


Now & Before

by KilledTheQueen



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Crossover, Fairy Tale Retellings, Lots of Music, M/M, Music, Stiles is Esmeralda, gypsies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-07-17 12:30:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16095716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KilledTheQueen/pseuds/KilledTheQueen
Summary: Stiles clicks off his microphone and leans back as soft guitars begin to build over the station speakers, spilling out into the street in front of his window. Outside the town is quiet, not that Storybrooke is ever a bustling city. It’s small and quaint and everyone pretty much knows everyone. It’s comforting in a way, even if something deep down in Stiles longs for more.Once Upon a Time Crossover





	1. Once Upon A Time...

**NOW**

“This is OUAT Radio, and it is a pleasant fall afternoon here in Storybrooke and you’ve just heard The Arctic Monkeys with [Do I Wanna Know?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bpOSxM0rNPM).” Stiles lets his voice raise on the question mark in the title, chuckling lightly as he queues up the next song. “It’s three o’clock on a Thursday so you know what that means, time for our all request hour where you get to choose the music. You know the drill, call, text or email the station and I’ll play your picks all the way to the end of my shift at four. We’ll start things off with a request from my bestie Ruby down at Granny’s Dinner, here’s First Aid Kit with [Waitress Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z4uPW7dImYA).” Stiles clicks off his mic and leans back as soft guitars begin to build over the station speakers, spilling slightly out into the street in front of his window.

Outside the town is quiet, not that Storybrooke is ever a bustling city. It’s small and quaint and everyone pretty much knows everyone. It’s comforting in a way, even if something deep down in Stiles longs for more at times. The radio booth sits behind a long wide window facing the street and Stiles smiles as a couple passes by waving cordially at him. he raises a hand in return, before hopping up from his seat to locate a CD as a new request comes in for something older that he’s pretty sure isn’t on their digital server. 

The next three songs are already queued up and ready to go, thanks to early requests for the popular show. So, he takes his time looking for the right version of the of the newly requested song, reaching for the outdated disc and returning to his chair to slip it into the CD player. It’s not unusual to have to reach back into the archives. The station only started switching over to digital two years ago and they’re only around two-thirds of the way done importing their CDs and vinyl. It doesn’t help that there are only three of them that work at the station. 

Stiles handles the 8am to 4pm shift, with Erica, a blonde with a snarky attitude and great taste in music covering 4pm to midnight. Danny, a unfairly attractive computer genius, handles overnights and they run pre-recorded programming on the weekends. Together they keep the station running smoothly and educate the people of Storybrooke in the ways of good music. Well those that listen to the station anyway. Stiles is pretty sure Mr. Harris at the Post Office is a heathen that listens to modern country. 

The first song ends, slipping seamlessly into something more uptempo and Stiles uses his mouse to check the box for the song he wants to play, so that it slips into the upcoming queue. he’s got about six more minutes until he has to go back on-air so he takes the time to relax. Outside leaves are falling, blowing slowly up the street, some tumbling end over end as they bounce against the pavement. Across the street Hale auto shop is closed, like it is most of the time. The guy who owns it, Peter, is hardly ever around, just a number to call in case of emergency on the locked wrought-iron gate. 

The building itself has always fascinated Stiles, it looks like it was once something else a long time ago, though he can never figure out what. It’s two stories of large dull red stone with a large arch to the side for cars to pull through to the back, but that is usually blocked by the gate that fits it. The place looks old, turn of the century maybe, but despite the unappealing color it’s kept in good repair. Stiles doubts that’s thanks to Peter. 

As if summoned by his thoughts a piece of white paper appears in the second story window of the building bearing the message,  **Light Will… Mike Doughty** . Stiles laughs, this happens every once in a while. Peter has a nephew, a recluse who lives in the building across the street, and from what Stiles can tell, he listens religiously to his show. He’s never actually seen the guy, he catches glimpses from time to time through the iron gate as he tinkers around in the back or takes out the garbage. Stiles does however keep a small whiteboard handy for just these occasions. 

**NEED NAME FOR REQUEST** . Stiles writes, turning it and placing it against the window. the paper disappears for a moment before returning with the artist name underlined. Stiles rolls his eyes, wipes the words on his board away and writes  **YOUR NAME** . He knows he won’t get an answer, even as he stands and tries to put on his most charming smile. The paper disappears and doesn’t come back before Stiles has to sit down and turn on his microphone.

“Thanks to August, Lydia and David for their requests. Next up is one for my mystery man, This is Mike Doughty with[ Light Will Keep Your Heart Beating in the Future](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X463j6US4l0).” 

  
  


**BEFORE**

 

“Genim!” a woman calls, “you come back here this instant!” Genim doesn’t stop, just races faster away from his caravan and into the wide open field. His feet are bare and his hair long, reaching his chin in wavy tuffs that flow behind him as he runs to his mother. She’s standing in the field, surrounded by others from their tribe, a tambourine bouncing against her hip in time with the music being played. 

“Momma!” Genim calls climbing through the circle of musicians to his mother. The men laugh, patting him gently as he passes them. “Momma!” he calls again, bringing her attention to him at last as she stops and bends down to receive him, lifting him in the air and spinning him around. 

“Why if it isn’t my little Genim.” she says, her brown eyes soft as she looks at him, “What are you doing here? I thought we agreed that you were going to work on your letters today.”

“But momma I want to dance like you!” he says.

“I’m sorry Claudia” his tutor says, “I tried to keep him, but you know how he is.”

“Of course I do” She smiles, “Just like his mother.” 

“headstrong and unruly, sounds about right.”

“Papa!” Genim cheers, squirming out of his mother’s arms and racing towards his father. Claudia follows, wrapping an arm around her husband as Stiles crawls into his arms. 

“How was town, my love?” she asks.

“Fine, should be all settled for The Feast next week.” His father smiles. “Glad to be back though, the city’s under a new Mayor, he’ll do his best to make trouble for us.”

“They always do,” Claudia shrugs, turning to let her husband, John, lead the family back towards their camp. “Gypsies are never overly welcome.” 


	2. And Then They Meet

**NOW**

There are precisely three things that Stiles loves without question. The first being music, obvious and in need of no explanation. Second, is his longboard, 36 inches of polished wood and freedom. He sighs contented as he rounds a corner, the wind flowing across his cheeks and pulling at his flannel. The third thing is Ruby, and he means this strictly platonically, Ruby is his best friend and at the end of a day like today, full or stress and mess, he can’t wait to sit down at Granny’s and share a piece of pie with her.

Don’t get him wrong, Stiles loves his job, he really does. Music has always spoken to him on a level few other things ever have. It can make him happy, make him sad, get him through break-ups. It highlights great moments and can be his anchor when he feels lost. He thinks it has to do with his mother, not that he remembers much, but there is a vague image in his mind that he latches on to. A blurry recollection of dancing alongside his mother in a field, feeling safe and loved. He’s not sure if it’s real. For as long as he can recall he’s been an orphan. On his own except for the music. Anyway, the point is, that Stiles loves his job, loves bringing music and happiness to the citizens for Storybrooke, even if does mean he has to occasionally deal with Kate, the building owner. 

Wheeling around the last corner, Stiles swerves to avoid Mayor Mills, waving back in acknowledgement as she yells something about watching where he’s going on a public sidewalk. He stops, kicking the tail of his board up so he can grab onto the front as he makes his way to the front door of the diner. 

Ruby is sitting on the counter, the shop empty before the afternoon rush. Her short black shorts and red shirt showing off her long legs and ample cleavage. If Stiles was not 100% into men, he’s sure his mouth would go dry at the sight. Instead, he just rolls his eyes, smiling at his best friend.

“I’m going to need the biggest slice of strawberry pie you have.” He sighs, dropping onto the stool at her side. 

“bad day, boo?”

“You have no idea.”

“Kate?”

“I just don’t understand why she even shows up there!” He yells, arms flailing, “She owns the building, I’ll give you that, but she has no hand whatsoever in running the station.”

“I think we both know why she shows up there.”

“Yeah, so she can completely ruin the flow of my show and leave the entire office in disarray with her hemming and hawing over interior changes she might make.”

“Oh I don’t think it’s the show she wants to ruin.” Ruby smirks, setting down a pie tin half full of pie.

“Ugh, gross.” Stiles sighs, grabbing one of the forks from Ruby’s hand.

“Better eat up, this is the last of the season.”

“No” Stiles whines, “not my strawberry pie, it’s the one thing that’s right about this world.”

“You know you have a very weird obsession with a seasonal pie, right?”

“Can you blame me?” Stiles moans around his fork.

“Well there goes my appetite.”

“Whatever, you love me.”

“God knows why…”

“Because your cleavage has no effect on me and I play all your requests, even when it’s Top 40.”

“I suppose you’re not so bad.”

Stiles hums in a agreement, slipping another bite of his beloved pie into his mouth, “So you want to go hit up a movie with me when you get off?”

“Gross, chew with your mouth closed, you heathen.” Ruby laughs, “Also, sure. I’m off at nine.”

“Okay, I’ll pick you up then. I’m going to go home and grab a cat nap before then, dealing with that woman is exhausting.”

“Fine, but i’m driving." Ruby says, as Stiles bats her fork away from tin, "You are not getting me in that box of spare parts you call a jeep.”

“Hey!” Stiles glares as he devours the last two bites of pie. “Roscoe is a classic.”

“Yes, you’re right I’m sorry.” She nodded, “I’m not getting in that classic box of spare parts.”

“That’s better.” Stiles smiled, standing and kissing Ruby on the cheek. "I await my carriage at 9, 9:15 at the latest!" he yells, making a suitably dramatic exit from the diner, and heading home. 

Stiles lives on the East side of town, not too far from the station or Granny’s, in Storybrooke’s finest trailer park. Okay, so it’s Storybrooke’s only trailer park, but it’s not so bad in actuality. Rent is cheap and the neighbors are friendly enough, especially since he bought good headphones and doesn’t bother them with loud music at two o’clock in the morning anymore.  He cruises through the gates of the park, the sign advertising reasonable lot rates and shared amenities. His trailer is two streets in and four lots over, number 2, and the outside is a comforting green color that reminds him of evergreen trees. He has a path of stone pavers leading up to the front door and a red mailbox that tends to fall open and scatter his letters all over the lawn. It's imperfect, and it's home. 

Stiles makes his way up the stairs to the front door, waving politely at Leroy who's leaving his own trailer next door. His trailer isn't much inside, a sitting area, decent sized kitchen, bath and a bedroom but Stiles has made it his own. The walls are covered in colorful gig posters, and his furniture is comfortable and well loved. Stiles makes his way to the kitchen, drains a cup of cool water and downs a couple advil to fight his building headache, and heads back to his bed. 

He hates dealing with Kate, it’s all innuendo and scarcely veiled threats to his position at the station. Not that she could really fire him. It’s her niece that owns the station. Allison does the books and keeps the station going in all the ways the on-air staff would be hopeless at. She does happen to be very close to her aunt though. Which means Stiles has to play nice no matter how badly the older woman creeps him out, and lately her visits have gotten more frequent. Less thinly veiled, more like bright neon sign communicating unappreciated comments on his appearance. He supposes that some people would be flattered by the attention, but Kate is one y-chromosome short and ten years too old for Stiles to feel that way personally. 

Stiles lays back in bed, the one piece of furniture he’d spent a truly obscene amount of money on, and nestles into the blankets. Tomorrow will be better, he tells himself. He may not be rich like Kate or have any family like Ruby, but he’s got a job he loves and a best friend who would do anything for him. That should be enough he’s sure. That part of him that yearns for more can fuck off.

  
  


**BEFORE**

The Feast of Fools  is always Genim’s favorite time of the year. The costumes, the music and dancing, it’s all so vibrant and fun, and it’s the one day of year the gypsy camp is truly welcome in the city. Genim is ten this year, too old to have to stick with his parents at all times, but too young to be able to perform yet. So he spends time wandering around the merchant booths in between performances. He never misses his mother dance. 

It’s the third day of the five day festival when Genim notices the boy for the first time. The town surrounds a large ornate cathedral, taller and more costly looking than any Genim has seen before or since. Carved gargoyles and cherubs line graceful stone arches and ornate windows, works of art in themselves that must have taken a long time to complete. There are also two large bell towers near the front and twice a day they ring out over the city, once at sunrise and once as the sun sets. It’s beautiful, and Genim has spent a lot of time marveling at the sheer size of it. Today however, his attention is caught not by the art and architecture of the church, but by a boy.

He sits far up, legs hanging over a ornately carved water spout. Genim cannot see much of the boy as he has a hood pulled over his head and sits so high, but he cannot help but wonder what he’s doing up there. It does not take him much time to decide to investigate. Genim is by far the most curious member of their tribe, and it has gotten him in trouble more than once, but he can’t help the need he feels pulling him up and onwards towards the lonely looking figure. 

He decides to climb. The boy is sitting high up the side of the cathedral, in the shadows. It’s a miracle that Genim had spotted him to begin with, but if the boy was able to get there then Genim is sure he’ll be able to make the climb. He finds a foothold at the base, in a small gap between the lattice stonework and pushes himself off the ground, his opposite foot leaving the earth and searching carefully for the best spot to balance his weight. He manages to make it most of the way up before the boy notices him. 

“Hi!” Genim calls, the boys jumps, turning towards Genim, but all he sees is a bright shock of white beneath the boys hood before he moves quickly back towards the building. “Wait!” Genim shouts, reaching for a hold on the large stone waterspout the boy had been perched on. The boy stills, back against the outer wall of the cathedral. There is something odd in the way he stands, one shoulder much higher than the other and his chest hitching forward as if standing straight would pain him. “I’m Genim” he says, still struggling to pull himself the rest of the way up. The boy doesn’t speak, but Genim isn’t deterred as he hefts his knee up on the spout with a relieved smile. “For a second there I thought I might not make i-” Genim’s knee slips suddenly, a brittle bit of stone giving way and his balance tipping backwards. He has a moment of fear, as his heart stops in his chest before there is a rough hand around his. He’s hanging precariously, eyes on the ground too far away to look welcoming, when he realizes he’s been saved. Looking up, he sees that the boys hood has come away a bit, pale skin framing a pair of lips with a gnarled scar running through them.

“Hang on” the boy says, dragging Genim further up until he can once again grab hold of the spout to help pull himself to safety. The boy immediately backs away once Genim is safe, walking until he’s back against the building’s wall, pulling his hood forward even in the shadows. 

“Thank-thank you” Genim breathes, a hand on his chest.

“What do you think you were doing?” the boy scolds.

“I-I didn’t think”

“No, you didn’t!” the boy yells, “Don’t you know it’s dangerous to climb so high?”

“You’re up here.”

“Well yes, but I live here, I know these walls.”

“You live here?” Genim tilts his head, “in a church?”

“My father, well he’s not really my father, but he lets me call him that. He boards me here with the monks.” the boy says, still not coming away from the shadows. “But you- what are you doing here? Where are your parents?”

“First off, I’m ten, okay. I can go places without my parents.”

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t realize I was speaking to a grown up.” Genim is pretty sure the boy is rolling his eyes beneath his hood.

“Secondly” he continues, “I saw you up here and I thought you looked lonely. I wanted to come see if you were okay.”

“By scaling the side of the cathedral? Are you mad?”

Genim ignores the boy, taking a moment to walk further in towards the building desiring more stability after his near fall. the boy backs away the closer he gets, but Genim figures he’s probably just sheltered. Afterall he’s being raised by monks. Genim has never been to a church before but he’s heard the monks are pious people who like to surround themselves with books and take vows of silence. He thinks it must be very odd to live with men who never speak. 

“What are you doing up here anyway?” .

The boy is silent for a moment before sighing, “Watching The Feast.”

“From all the way up here?” Genim looks down from their place, he can see the city well, the square stretched to capacity with colorful tents and booths in which vendors are selling their wares, people roam to and fro but it is hard to make out much detail. “Why don’t you just go down?” the boy stays silent, staying just out of arm's reach. “I mean it is interesting to view the city from up here, but wouldn’t you rather see what all there is to experience down there?”

“I’m not allowed” the boy says. 

“Are you in trouble?” The boy says nothing but Genim can tell he is shaking his head “no” from beneath his hood. “Are the monks keeping you prisoner?”  The boy laughs lightly, shaking his head no again.

“I’m just..not allowed.”

“Well that’s okay I guess.” Genim says, taking a seat on the more secure ledge. “The show should be starting in an hour or so anyway, it might be interesting to watch it from up here.”

“The Gypsy’s show?” The boy asks, moving slightly closer to peer down.

“‘Yeah, that’s the one. My mom is our most talented dancer and my dad plays the guitar for her.” Genim beams with pride.

“Y-your a gypsy?” The boy gasps.

“Uh, yeah.” He thought it was obvious, though his skin is more fair that is typical, he takes after his father who joined the caravan as opposed to be born into it, he still bares the usual dark hair and eyes. His wavy hair reaching his chin and his clothes are well worn and patched with bright colors. All typical of the tribe. 

“I’ve never met a gypsy before.” the boy says, taking a tentative seat at his side. 

“Well I’ve never met a monk who could climb walls before, so it’s a good day for both of us” he smiles. 

The boys sit in silence for a time, until the show starts and Genim begins to tell his new friend all about what it’s like to be a gypsy. His new friend, “Derek, my name is Derek” the boy says, seems fascinated and a bit lonely. Genim can’t blame him if the monks won’t even let him leave for The Feast. They talk for hours, well Genim talks and Derek listens intently. They don’t talk about Derek though, the one time Genim starts to ask about his body (there’s obviously some deformity, shoulders uneven and chest bent forward) he can see Derek’s muscles start to seize in discomfort, so he drops the subject quickly. They watch the town well into the night, Genim explaining the dances and music and both staring intently at the flames the fire-eaters blow high into the sky. It’s late by the time it occurs to Genim that he should probably get home before his parents worry. 

“I’ll help you down” Derek says, and so he does, leading Genim down, showing him where is safe to step and which carvings have steady landings he can  balance on. Genim can’t help but marvel at how elegantly Derek climbs despite the awkwardness of his chest and shoulder. When they reach the ground it’s dark, the streets mostly empty save for late night revelers. 

“Come with me” Genim says, “You can meet my parents and tomorrow you can watch the show from the ground!” he can’t see the boy’s face underneath his hood, but he still feels his weariness. 

“I cannot.”

“Why? You seem so unhappy here.”

“I do not expect you to understand.” Derek says, “You are still a child, but I have a duty to my guardian to stay here.”

“I’m not a child. You cannot be much older than me.”

“I am nearly fifteen.”

“That’s not so much older, there is a boy in the tribe that age and teacher says I have already surpassed him in my studies.”

“Gypsies study?”

“Of course we study!” Genim rolls his eyes, “I know my letters and sums and music. This year I’ll start my dance training.”

“Dance training?”

“Yes, I want to perform with my mother when I’m older and she’s schooled in several styles of dance and reads tarot.”

“Well maybe I will see you dance some day.”The boy says, bringing his hand up for Genim to shake. 

“Deal” Genim shakes, though he still wishes he could take Derek with him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, comments and constructive criticism are appreciated and welcome. :)
> 
> I will be posting chapters every couple of days as time allows.
> 
> This is a story I posted once before, but wanted to go back and rework and flush out.


	3. An Encounter

**NOW**

Stiles curses his luck as he pulls over to the side of the road. Ruby will never let him live this down. He’d been in a hurry that morning, needing to stop by the library to return a few books before his shift at the station. Of course his beloved Jeep took that opportunity to stall and ultimately die just five blocks from work. “Come on baby, don’t do this to me” he pleads, turning the key only to watch as Roscoe once again sputters and fails to turn over. “Shit!” he hits the steering wheel, grabbing his backpack from the back seat and jumping out of the car. At least he was able to pull over to the side of the road before it died.

Looking at his watch Stiles sees that he has ten minutes to make it to work. He starts to hoof it, feet pounding on the cement as he turns on to 6th, just in time to hear Danny’s voice through the outdoor speakers announcing his final song before his shift ends.

“Nice of you to make it Stilinski” Danny says as Stiles stumbles through the door and into the booth.

“Sorry, sorry, my car broke down on the way here.”

“When are you going to trade that thing in man? It’s practically an antique.”

“Not all of us love the soulless interior of the Ford Focus, Danny-boy.”

“Whatever” Danny smirks, “I queued up a couple tracks for you so you could get settled in.”

“Thanks man, I owe you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Danny says, waving and then he’s off leaving Stiles alone at the desk. 

Stiles leans back, rubbing his sweaty forehead with the sleeve of his shirt and thinking that he really needs to get to the gym if a five block run left him so out of breath. Logging into his computer he sees his station inbox is pretty bare, just one email from Alison requesting that Stiles once again please remember to turn in his time card if he would like to get paid, another from Erica with a link to an Alternative Press article on JD McPherson and one from Ruby saying “It feels like a Smiths kind of morning.” Stiles rolls his eyes, Ruby thinks every overcast morning is a “Smiths kind of morning” but he queues up Panic for her just the same.  

He also takes an opportunity to check his bank account. He’s disappointed but not surprised to find that whatever repairs the Jeep needs to have done will surely wipe out his savings. Easy come, easy go he supposes. He can only hope he can work out some kind of deal with Peter. 

The clock ticks over to 8:05 and the song ends so Stiles flips on his mic. “Good Morning Storybrooke this is Stiles Stilinski hanging in here with you until four o’clock this afternoon, welcome to this gorgeous Friday morning. The temperature is… 61 degrees, not too bad for this time of year, the high today looking to hit 67. You’ve just heard [Pressure](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CePpTXIuQzY) by My Brightest Diamond, one of my new favorites for sure. Before we get back into the music, the city council would like me to remind everyone that the Halloween Carnival & Gala are only three weeks away and they’re still looking for volunteers. If you or someone you know is interested in volunteering please submit your information to Mayor Mills by next Wednesday. Okay, all that junk out of the way how about some Frank Turner to get us off to a good start, here he is with [The Way I Tend to Be.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cf5O2M5GaEA)”

Across the street a hint of movement draws his attention away from his computer, Dr. Hopper waves from the sidewalk where he and Pongo are taking their morning walk. Stiles waves back, warmed by the essence of a small town that allows him to be on friendly terms with most of his neighbors. As the doctor moves on a flash of black catches his eye. Behind the fence of the auto shop Stiles can see a black bag being lifted into the dumpster. 

Checking his playlist queue, he sees that he has twelve minutes to spare until he needs to be back on air. Stiles jumps from his chair, making his way out the door and across the street. “Hello?” He calls as he approaches the gate, the rustling of bags still sounding behind the fence. “Hello?” He tries again. The noise stops, “Hello? Mr. Hale? It’s me Stiles, from the radio station.” He can’t see the man clearly, just the sleeve of a black leather jacket on the other side of the dumpster. “Listen, my Jeep broke down this morning and I was hoping I could get you to tow it here.”

“I-” a voice sounds, it’s unsure and quiet and definitely not Peter Hale, the man doesn’t have a shy bone in his body. “I can do that.” 

“Oh great” Stiles smiles, trying to get a better look at the man behind the dumpster, which he knows now must be Peter’s mysterious nephew. “I really hope it’s nothing too major, but you know, it’s my Jeep so chances are…”

“It’s no problem” the nephew says, “I’ll have Peter call you.” and with that Stiles watches the arm disappear and listens as footsteps fade away.

Stiles shrugs, ignoring the strange feeling of disappointment in his chest, and makes his way back to the station, just in time to intro the next song and list their local sponsors. Later in the day he watches as Peter pulls up to the repair shop with his beloved blue Jeep trailing behind him. Peter smiles and waves as he enters through the now opened gate and Stiles responds in kind. 

It’s several hours later, almost the end of Stiles’ shift when he sees Peter crossing the street towards him.  he’s wearing a clean oxford shirt and chinos and Stiles can only assume that his nephew must do the brunt of the mechanical actual work. Peter smiles and makes his way inside, waiting for the on-air light to darken before making his way into the booth.

“Well Mr. Stilinski, the good news is that we’ve found the problem.”

“And the bad news?”

“You need a new alternator.” 

Stiles whines, “And how much does that run.”

“With parts and labor, I’d say about seven-fifty.” Stiles frowns as he tallies numbers in his head, even with his savings and what he can spare from his checking account, he’s still about $200 short.

“And there’s no way we could get away any cheaper?” He asks, hoping for some kind of stop-gap that could at least get his baby up and running. 

“Afraid not, kiddo.” He smirks, leaning against Stiles’ desk, “Of course we may be able to work out some kind of alternative payment…” Stiles’ skin crawls at the look in the older man’s eyes that indicates he’s only mostly kidding. 

“Ha-ha,” Stiles says, “I’ll come up with it.” 

Peter looks slightly disappointed but shrugs as he makes his way towards the door. “I’ll call you when it’s done, shouldn’t take more than a day or two.”

“Thanks.” Stiles groans. He’s known Peter for a long time, the guy is harmless if a little creepy, but he’s also honest. If he says it will take seven-fifty to fix up his baby, then he believes him. The whole town knows that the Hales don’t take advantage. 

“Oh and Stiles, cash only I’m afraid.” Stiles sighs and nods his understanding. 

Stiles settles once Peter vacates his booth and is able to finish up his show with only a mild feeling of desolation. He has no one he can borrow money from. Ruby is just as broke as him, Erica wouldn’t loan him money and he doesn’t know Danny that well. He supposes he could alway ask Alison for an advance on his pay, but even thinking about it makes him feel like an absolute loser. In the end he knows what he has to do, he was just really hoping to avoid it.

Stiles skates home, trying to let the feeling of the cool autumn wind lull him into a peaceful state, but it doesn’t really work. The guitar is sitting next to his bed, in the corner, a place of honor that comforts him while he sleeps. It’s all he has left of his parents. He thinks if belonged to his father, a memory, hazy like all of them he has of his family, of large hands guiding his small fingers on the frets is always with him when he plays. It’s the only thing of value he really owns. A result of being a young orphan he supposes. He doesn’t want to part with it, god he really doesn’t, but it’s this or skating to work through a long winter in Maine.

He gathers the instrument up before he can think much more about it and heads out the door. Strapping the guitar to his back and starting off. Stiles wonders where would give him the best price. Mr. Gold’s is the obvious place, but there’s also a small music shop downtown. It’s windows are always lined with well loved instruments and signs offering music lessons. Stiles decides to start there, hoping a store specializing in music will have a better appreciation for the instrument.

It only takes about five minutes to reach the store, Storybrooke being the hamlet that it is. The sign says open on the door and when Stiles steps inside something in him is both settled and unnerved. Stiles wasn't aware that was even possible. 

“Be with you in a minute!” A voice calls from the back of the shop. Stiles takes the opportunity to look around. He’s never been in the store before, strange since he’s so musically inclined. He’s always picked up instruments easily, and as he looks around his fingers itch to hold so many of the old but well cared for pieces on display. “And what can I help you with?” A blonde man with grey hair lying around his temples stands behind the counter, kind eyes and pale skin.

“I have this” Stiles says, swinging the guitar off his back and placing it gently on the counter in front of the man. 

“Looking to sell?” Stiles only nods. “Well let’s take a look.” the man opens the case, carefully unzipping it to reveal the antique and intricate design of the acoustic guitar. Letting out an impressed whistle the man looks up to him, “You sure you want to part with this, son?” Stiles looks away, tears prickling behind his eyes and nods.

The guitar comes out of the case then, the man picking it up gently and rotating it to take in all the details and no doubt look for any damage. “It’s a fine instrument” he says, Again Stiles can only nod as the man places it back in it’s case, “I can offer you eight hundred.”

“That much?” Stiles asks.

“Well” the man begins, counting out the cash, “seems to me that someone would have to be in dire straights to give up a piece like that, well loved and taken care of as it is. Tell you what, you take $400 for it and I’ll keep it in the back, lock it up tight and when you have the money you can come and buy it back from me.”

“Wh-” Stiles is almost too overcome to continue, “why would you do that for me?”

“Well Stiles, it is Stiles right?”

“Yeah, how did you…”

“I’m a fan of the show and the town isn’t that big.” The man smirles, “I’d hate to see someone who cares about music the way you do, lose the thing that most ties them to it. So, do we have a deal?” the store owner holds out a hand and Stiles grasps it immediately.

“Yes,” He smiles full of gratitude, “yes, sir.”

“Call me John.” the man’s eyes crease as he smiles in turn and hands over the cash. “She’ll be here when you’re ready for her.” he says patting the case. Stiles reaches over and draws the warm stranger into a hug.

 

**BEFORE**

 

“Then Scott said that it was a miracle I hadn’t managed to break my neck.” Genim smiled as his companion scrubbed at one of the large bells that hung over the cathedral. 

“You should be more careful” 

“Ha!” Genim scoffed, examining a wooden figure Derek had carved, this one of a young boy, “coming from the man that scales the walls of this cathedral daily.” 

Derek had a delicate hand, something that hadn’t actually surprised Genim all that much when he first discovered his friend’s talent for whittling. The details on the newest figure were intricate and precise. His vest bore small round buttons and his hair curled slightly over his forehead in gentle waves. There was more too, a whole village Derek had carved out of spare bits of wood with loving accuracy, and that Genim couldn’t help but fawn over whenever he visited.

“I was raised here. I know every nook and cranny of these walls.” Derek replied, dipping his cloth into the cleaner once more, “where as you seem hardly able to stand on your own two feet without tumbling off something.”

“I’m supposed to stumble, Derek I was practicing to be an acrobat.”Genim smiled looking on as his friend turned from the bell to start back towards him. Derek had saved him from a terrible fall the first year they’d met and had never let him live it down. Genim had of course returned the favor by continuing to come and harass him every year during The Feast of Fools. 

Derek rolled his eyes, “An acrobat? I thought you wanted to be a dancer.” Genim loved his time with his friend. Derek was a recluse, and from what Genim was able to get out of him, after many years, it had something to do with his “father” and his physical deformity. 

Derek was tall, dark short hair cropped close and soft to his face, with a sturdy back that sloped forward due to crushed ribs on his right side that never healed properly as a child. A long scar ran across his face from just beside his right eye, down and through his lips to end at his chin. For the first two years of their acquaintance Derek has been ashamed of his physical disfigurement, hiding under hoods and shying away from standing too close. Over time though he had opened up, and now five years later he did not flinch when Genim sat next to him and softly patted him on the shoulder.

“Well of course I want to be a dancer, but gypsies can be many things, my friend.”

“How long does it take to become a dancer?”

“Mom says I should be able to dance next year. Can you believe it?” Genim asked, clutching his friends’ arm excitedly. “Me? On the main stage? It’s going to be magnificent. You’ll come won’t you?” he asked, turning to his friend, “oh please say you’ll come! It would mean so much to me.”

“Why should that be so?” Derek asked, shying away from the request.

“Because you’re my best friend Derek.” The boy replied as if to say  _ obviously _ .

“What? Me?” the boy asked wide eyed, “But what about Scott?”

“Hey I love Scott, he’s fun and great, but all he ever wants to talk about is Kira. Kira this, Kira that, I can’t talk with him like I can with you and I only get to see you once a year. No, you are my dearest friend. So please, please say you’ll come?” Genim pleaded, trying to look as pathetic as possible.

“Fine: Derek sighed, “If by some miraculous twist of fate you feature on the center stage next year, I will come.”

“Yes!” Genim whooped, jumping to his feet and dancing around in tight circle. “You won’t regret it Derek, I’ll be so great you’ll see!” Derek flailed as Genim sat down the carved figure he was looking at and grabbed his hand, pulling him up from his seat and making him spin around with him. “Come on Derek, don’t be a stick in the mud!” Genim laughed as he lead Derek around by the hand. Derek struggled at first slightly clumsy due to his abnormal right side, but soon he caught up, bringing Genim in so that they could dance closer together.

Genim was the only one Derek would do this with, he knows it. The man would never let his guard down around anyone else, and it warmed Genim’s insides as his friend smiled. Derek was twenty now, a man for all intents and purposes, but for having never left the walls of the cathedral, and each time Genim saw him he found him more handsome, more approachable. Genim feared the friendship that flowed so easily between them sometimes. He worried that no one would ever be able to live up to the freedom and happiness he felt when he was with Derek. And Genim was a gypsy. He was born free.

A drum rolled loudly below them and both stopped their dancing to rush to the side of the roof. Below The Feast of Fools was officially starting. Genim could see his tribe, brightly clothed and singing filing into the center of the square as citizens and revelers joined in on the fun. “I’ll have to go soon” Genim said, turning to Derek “I’m meant to perform at sundown.” 

“I’m sure you’ll be great.” Derek smiled. 

“I wish you would come.”

“You know I can’t”

“I know you think you can’t”

“Genim…” Derek warned, but Genim just shook his head.

“Derek it would be so much fun and no one would pay attention to you under your cloak, you could blend in so easy I promise.”

“I can’t”

“Please! I won’t leave your side for a moment, maybe you could even bring some of your carvings to sell!” Stiles gestured around to the carvings of people and animals that lined the bell tower. His friend was so talented, and it seemed a crime not to make something out of it. Each piece was ornate and loved. His creations could easily fetch a good price. Maybe even enough for him to escape the belltower. 

“Don’t be ridiculous” Derek said, completely convinced of his art’s worthlessness. 

“I’m not! You’re work would sell easily, you could even take commissions, it would be great! Maybe you could even come with us on the road, see the world, instead of hiding here.”

“I’m not hiding.” Derek huffed.

“Okay, fine, but you could at least come see me perform, it would mean so much to me, and you would have so much fun, I promise!”

“Genim…”

“I only wish you to be there with me. You deserve so much more than this Der-”

“I said NO!” Derek yelled shoving Genim aside. The younger sliding back, landing on his back a couple feet away, his elbow throbbing from where it hit against the cement. “Genim…”

“No, fine” Genim stood, straightening out his clothes and brushing away bits of dirt, “it’s fine. I don’t...I’m old enough to know I cannot have everything I want. I am sorry to have asked.” without a further word Genim rushed away, scaling down a ladder that would lead him down a flight of stairs to the base of the belltower. 

He rushed downward hearing Derek call after him momentarily, but he did not stop. He was angry and more importantly hurt. Genim understood that Derek was afraid of people, of how they might perceive him, but he still can’t understand his reaction. There was no need for Derek to lash out at him that way. All Genim wanted was his best friend with him. He only wanted him to experience something outside the stuffy walls and the monks, but If he refused to leave then there’s nothing Genim could do for him. 

His steps faltered suddenly, as voices entered the stairwell, “He is simply polishing the bells, Master Argent.” a voice said, floating up from somewhere below him. Genim ducked back into the shadows of the poorly lit stairs as two men pass him, a monk and the man he had addressed. 

The man was tall, well dressed and with a protruding stomach and an air of money, an easy mark for pick-pocketing if Genim had seen him in the square. A black tri-fold had sat upon his head while the rich fabric of his cloak echoed softly in the small space. Derek’s guardian Gerard he presumed. “I don’t care what he’s doing the man growled, what if he should be seen? What if someone should discover that monster out in the open?” Genim wanted to speak, wanted to protest against Gerard speaking of Derek that way, but he has no doubt that it would only lead to trouble. 

“He is just a boy, your grace. Perhaps if you only took him out with you…”

“What?!” Gerard stopped, turning towards the monk, “Are you suggesting I take that t _ hing _ into society with me? Introduce him as my kin?”

“He is more than his deformity.”

“I would not care if he were God himself.” Gerard growled, “he is to remain hidden, do you understand?” The monk nodded solemnly, before turning and leading Gerard up the stairs and out of Genim’s sight. Genim felt his stomach turn, it was no wonder Derek had reservations about leaving the cathedral if that was how his own guardian spoke of him. He takes the opportunity to rush the rest of the way down the stairs and out of the bell tower.

Genim had never met Gerard before, The Mayor of the city, only heard the way any story involving him would stop and start with unease as Derek told it. What a fool he’d been to push the older man. It was unfair of him to expect his friend to forget the years of hiding just because he wanted him to come see him in some stupid show. He decides to apologize to Derek first thing in the morning. Maybe even sneak away some of Scott’s mother’s famous cinnamon bread for him. He would make it up to him. That much he promised himself.

Genim made his way through the crowds, towards the small side street where the tribe had placed their caravans for the duration of The Feast. Around him people were abuzz with excitement as they stopped to buy candied apples from a street vendor, and gathered to watch a sword swallower. Boyd winked at Genim  as he passed, sliding one of his blades out from his thick neck.. The first day of The Feast was always the busiest, the anticipation enrapturing the crowds as it broke over them in waves of performers, games and sweet treats.

“Genim!” he heard his name called and turned to find his father. “Where have you been?” 

“Yes, where indeed?” his mother smirked as she came up behind him, setting a hand on his shoulder and guiding him further into their camp. Both of his parents were under the impression that Genim was hiding a sweetheart. One that he could only see when they are in town. It was untrue obviously, but Genim wasn’t sure how to explain Derek. Not when his existence was meant to be a secret, so he let his parents assume.

“Nowhere, I was just wandering.”

“Wandering, huh?” his father said, his dirty blonde hair highlighted by the setting sun. “seems like he does more and more of that every year, wouldn’t you say?”

“Oh yes, dear.” His mother smiled.

“Yes, yes, haha” Genim replied sneaking out from under his mother’s touch, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go get dressed for my performance with Scott.”

“Don’t wander off!” his father called after him. The man thought he was a comedian.

The performance that night was well attended. With many people circled around the small side stage he and Scott were to appear at. “Where have you been!?”Scott snapped as he helped Genim to tighten his vest across his chest, “I almost thought I was going to have to go on alone.”

“Well that would have been a short show” Genim smirked, most of their tricks could only be done with two people, and a third hidden troupe member of course, to work the crowd for loose pockets. Gypsies weren’t thieves per-say but when the rich of the city come out to stare at their spectacle and leave without even a contribution to the basket set on the stage, well it only seemed right to relieve them of some of that undisclosed wealth. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen I give you, all the way from the courts of The Enchanted Forest, the fabulous Romani brothers!” the audience cheered as Genim and Scott made their way on stage. the Romani brothers was a stage name, used for just about every pair of acrobats that have ever performed. Romani being another name the people of The Enchanted Forest use for gypsies. They smiled to the crowd, making their bows at the center of the stage before they started their routine.

They started off simple, Scott was more muscular than Genim, easily able to balance the other’s weight as he stepped up onto Scott’s thighs, clutching hands, palm to palm. Finding balance, Genim then placed a knee on one of Scott’s shoulders, lifting his body up and up, until suddenly he could remove his knee and balance himself fully on Scott’s palms, his body rising until it was straight in the air. The crowd cheered as Genim balanced and Scott spun around carefully in a circle as the audience continued to laugh and clap. Next Genim spread his legs, spread eagled in the air balancing himself for a three count until Scott came to a stop and he was able to push off his partner’s palms and flip down, landing face to face before his friend.  They both bowed, before flowing quickly into their next trick. 

The show progressed swiftly from then on, they tumbled in a circle composed of both their bodies, enraptured the audience with balance rope tricks and juggled flaming hoops of wood. They were about halfway through their time when Genim noticed the man in the hood. He was making himself small, back up against the far side of the stage, where the shadows helped to camouflage that one of his shoulders rose noticeably higher than the other. Genim felt as if his smile would split his face. “Genim!” Scott whispered, calling him back to the task at hand, a backflip off of a large barrel and onto his friends shoulders. The boys clapped in unison as he sat himself perfectly astride Scott and they turned to the audience. 

Once they were done, a final double roll to the front of the stage, hats extended for tips, Genim turned back to catch a glance of Derek. He could just make him out as he walked away down a dark alley just beyond the circling crowd. “I need to go.” Genim said, as he turned to his friend. 

“What? I need you to help set up for the next act.”

“I’ll owe you one!” Genim called as he bounced from the stage in the direction of the alley. He heard Scott mumble something unflattering behind him but paid him no mind, running quickly just the same. “Derek!” he called, trying to catch up to his friend. He caught sight of him, just as Derek rounded a corner and wasted no time in following after him. 

the streets were thick with people as Genim pushed through, but he was small, thin torso and legs letting him slide between the festival goers easily as he rushed to catch up. He was almost to the square when he lost sight of him, “Derek!’ he called, gaining some annoyed looks from those around him but receiving no response. Nevertheless, there was only one place his friend would be going. Genim dove back into the throng of people, heading as best he could towards the cathedral. He’d just pushed past a portly fellow who seemed to be wobbling from too much drink when he was knocked to the ground.

“Watch where you’re going!” a booming voice hollered down at him, a hand picking Genim up by the collar before he even had a chance to react to his fall. The man was a soldier from what Genim could tell, polished armor of the city sentinels laying over his chest and a sword stuck into the scabbard at his side.

“I’m sorry, sir. I was only-”

“Be quiet” the man seethed, bringing Genim closer to his chest, “gypsy scum fouling up our streets, just look at what you did to my boots.” Genim looked down, unable to see any damage, but knowing to a sentinel it didn’t always matter. They, like a growing number, saw The Feast as a scourge on their “peaceful” city. 

“I-I’m terribly sorry, sir. It was an accident honest.”

“And what is that to my boots, boy? No doubt a pest like you has no money to repair them. I could have to locked up for recklessness and  destruction of property”

“No! Please sir” Genim begged, thinking of those he’d seen carried off to by soldiers in the past. Most were never seen again, those that were lucky came back quiet and malnourished, never the same lively person they were before. “I meant no harm, I was only in a hurry...”

“Oh, in a hurry, well then that excuses everything.” the soldier mocked, “No mind, boy. I’ll just take the cost out of your hide.” 

Genim knew he was not much yet, too thin and gangly after his last growth spurt to do any damage to a trained soldier. He looked around, hoping to spot someone that would intervene, but the people that passed avert their eyes choosing to avoid conflict. The sentinel’s arm came up, fist rearing back to strike and all Genim could do was brace himself for the impact. All he could do was hope that the man would take mercy on him, leave him without irreparable damage.

“Hey!” Genim stumbled back as his collar was torn from the soldier’s hand, a man, Derek if the cloak and off-set of his shoulders were to be believed, now stood between him and sentinel. The soldier looked livid, ruddy cheeks red and eyes big, “How dare you come between me and dispensing justice!”

“I saw no justice being carried out here,” Derek growled. “only a man picking on a boy half his size.”

“And would you like to take his place?” the soldier grinned, pushing Derek’s shoulder back, causing him to stumble. Genim stepped forward bracing his hands around his friend, “Let it go, Derek, he’s not worth the trouble he would bring.”

“Yes,” the man smiled, reaching around Derek to pull Genim forward “listen to your little friend, freak.”

“Do. Not. touch him.” Derek growled, a low sound that reverberated in Genim’s chest.

“And if I do?”

“I will make it so you never enjoy the warmth of woman or man again.” Derek smiled innocently, calling both Genim and the Sentinel’s attention to where he held a blade to his crotch just below his armour. 

“You wouldn’t dare” the soldier quaked, but his eyes travel between the knife and Derek steadily enough to know he was not sure of the claim.

“Try it and see.”

“You’ll be sorry for this” The soldier said, releasing his hold on Genim and taking a step back. “The mayor will know of this, and you will be sorely punished.” He spit, saliva landing at their feet before he moved away through the crowd. 

“What were you thinking?” Genim demanded, pulling Derek around to look at him, “He could have killed you.”

“He would have killed you.”

“You don’t know that!” Genim yelled, “And even so, better me than you.”

“Do not say such things” Derek said, taking a moment to run hands over Genim looking for any unnoticed injuries, “you have your parents and your tribe, they would be devastated to lose you. Do not take your own life so lightly.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Genim insisted, brushing Derek’s hands away. “And I don’t take my life lightly, but neither would I wish your life to take the place of mine.”

“Well, we will just have to agree to disagree it would seem.” Genim scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“I suppose this will be another thing I owe you for. You’re making a habit of saving my life.” Genim smiled as they begin to once again make their way towards Derek’s home.

“Well perhaps if you would stop taking such careless actions, I could take a break from life-saving.” He shrugs. “I would not mind.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments give me life and inspire me to post quicker.
> 
> I will be posting chapters every couple of days as time allows.
> 
> This is a story I posted once before, but wanted to go back and rework and flush out.


	4. The Feast of Fools

**NOW**

Stiles is just settling down, a cup of mediocre coffee from the station’s machine in hand, when he notices movement across the street. It’s the auto shop, of course it is. Because Stiles has only been slightly obsessed with trying to catch a glimpse of the mystery nephew he talked to last week. He’d hoped he’d see him when he went to pick up his jeep and pay for the repairs, but no such luck. Peter had been there of course, with his smarmy grin and paperwork to be signed, but no nephew in sight. Now though, there is movement and Stiles knows Peter hasn’t been around for at least a couple hours. Not that he’s been keeping track of the older man’s movements to possibly find a time to go over to the auto shop and thank the mechanic that fixed his car. Because that would be weird and unnecessary. Right? Yet some would say it would be a nice gesture, so...really, would it be that weird? Yes, probably...maybe. He doesn’t know and honestly, he’s close to not caring. He’s too curious for his own good.

The curtains on the second floor flutter slightly before a piece of paper is held up to the glass of the window. The large blocky letters spell out H-E-L-L-O. It stays there for a second, Stiles too shocked to respond before it’s whipped away quickly, as if the sender of the message is embarrassed. Stiles will admit, he’s fucking charmed as hell.

He doesn’t know much about Peter’s nephew, from what he can tell no one really does. The only reason Stiles even knew he was male before their encounter last week, was because he’d heard Peter talking about his poor sick nephew with Granny at the dinner one night. Despite talking to him the other day and the faint glimpses he gets from time to time, he’s never managed to see much beyond the back of a black leather jacket and a gray hood peeking out from underneath. 

He wonders if this is the guy reaching out. He’s submitted song requests this way before of course, but never anything like this. A simple greeting, open to response and perhaps even further conversation. 

Stiles realizes that he’s been staring for a while when the final song in his queue stops. He flails and has to panically search for a track to play to before he’s stuck with dead air. He pops on the latest from [Valerie June](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rN35g4eLQgg) and queues up a couple more tracks to play after, before he’s able to take a deep breath. He needs to get it together, there is nothing so compelling, especially not the glimpse of a leather covered shoulder, that should be interfering with a job he loves. He groans, leaning back in his chair and tries to get his head back in the game, it’s then that he notices another note in the window across the street.

**Are you okay?** it reads. 

Stiles immediately picks up his whiteboard, only to find that Erica has not so helpfully drawn a graphic depiction of Stiles jerking off on a leather jacket on it. He tells the woman he’s curious one time…. Okay, maybe several times in detail,  but that is just uncalled for. Stiles hurriedly wipes the image away, hoping no one else saw it. ' _How long has it even been there?_ ' He thinks, mortified with the knowledge that there's no way, at the very least, Danny hadn't seen it during his overnight shift. The next staff meeting is going to be hell. 

Stiles shakes his head, pulling out his dry erase marker and writing out, ‘fine’ but then hurriedly erasing it, before writing,  **better now that I have my jeep back** . he holds it up to the window for a moment before bringing it back to write,  **are you the one that fixed her?** He waits for a moment, expecting a yes, since he’s never seen Peter with so much as a smear of grease on his impeccably tailored shirts. Instead when the paper is back it reads,  **HER?** Stiles smiles, realizing that the other man is attempting to keep the conversation going. 

As the song on-air begins to wind down, Stiles holds up a finger, indicating for his neighbor to give him a moment. Slipping on his headphones and flipping on his mic, Stiles breathes deeply. “Good morning Storybrooke, that was 'Astral Plane' by Valerie June here on OUAT Radio, her new album is out now and if you’re lucky you may be able to get your hands on one of five, count them, five copies that our local music store has decided to stock. Looks like the rest of us are stuck with our dark Apple overlords to provide for us.” Outside a black SUV pulls up and parks in front of the station window, Stiles cringes as Kate steps out with a too bright smile pulling at her red lips. “So while we wait for our local music provider to update their stock, lets move on with this classic that you will definitely find on their shelves, this is ‘[You Can’t Always Get What You Want](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9DKhG6NA1Qc)’ by The Rolling Stones.”

Kate doesn’t wait for an invitation simply walking into the booth the moment the on-air light is no longer lit. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite DJ.” she purrs. 

“What can I do for you Kate?” Stiles asks, trying to look busy as he organizes the CDs littering his station. 

“I’m so glad you asked” she says, taking a seat on the desk directly in front of him. her short skirt leaving little to the imagination as it rides up her thighs, “The mayor was just in my office going on and on about the station, how her kid just won’t stop talking about how much he loves the music you all play.”

“Uh huh” Stiles, says, pushing away from the desk to stock the CDs and get some distance. It’s not that Kate isn’t attractive. She is if you like that praying mantis, I will use you and decapitate you after, vibe. However, Stiles, as he had tried to explain to her many times, was queer as a two dollar bill. Not bi, not questioning, Stiles is 100% gay and besides being a domineering creepy cougar, Kate is also missing one very specific thing that Stiles finds essential in a partner. “Well I’m glad Henry likes the music, he sends requests in every once in a while, it’s nice to see young kids taking an interest.”

“Well, I happened to mention that I owned the station.” Stiles bites his tongue at the utter falseness of the statement. “And she was just so excited. So, long story short you will be DJing the Mayor’s annual Halloween Gala!” She smiles like it’s some exciting surprise. 

“Excuse me?”

“No need to thank me, sweetie.”

“Thank you?” Stiles asks incredulously, “Why would I thank you?”

“I got you a high profile gig.”

“A gig you had no authority to authorize!”

“I own the station”

“You own the building, which as I understand it, we pay you handsomely for. Allison owns the station. She is the only one that can authorize things like that.” Stiles can feel is impatience growing. It’s one thing for this woman to parade herself around like she’s a gift to the station, but it’s another to allocate his time and talent. Alisson is his boss, it’s Alisson who Stiles trusts and is happy to work for. “Besides what if I have plans? Did you ever think of that?”

The smile drops off Kate’s face, “First off,  _ Stiles _ , I own what I say I own. Allison may be the station manager but she could not run this place without me and my continued support. You think this place rakes in the dough, sweetie?” she pauses, stepping close to Stiles. “Think again. You hemorrhage money. You think you and the little misfits that run this place would be better off somewhere else? None of you would last five minutes working any normal decent job, and you can believe me when I say, that without my backing this place would be going under. You’d all be out on your little twenty-something hipster asses within a week.” Stiles gulps, she’s not wrong. Stiles has always been a little too wild and impetuous for most people, let alone other jobs. “If I say you’re going to DJ this gala for Mayor Mills, you’re going to DJ the gala. This isn’t a discussion, this is me telling you to jump.” Her eyes are blazing, shining with more anger than he’s ever seen on her face. "Now you can ask how high." Stiles always thought of Kate as a nuisance, a sexual harassment case waiting to happen at worse, this is the first time he’s beginning to see that she could well be a bigger threat than he anticipated. “You got it?” Stiles nods slowly, completely confused as the dark look falls from Kate’s face and is replaced by a convincing, if insincere smile. “Great! I’ll see you next weekend then.” Kate steps back, making her way towards the door, turning back at the last minute, “Oh and Stiles, make sure to wear something sexy.” she winks and is gone.

Stiles slides into his seat, surprised to see that The Rolling Stones song is just ending. The confrontation with Kate barely lasting over three minutes. It’s left him, not scared, but well maybe scared. Kate is holding his job over his head, and more than that, the station itself. The one place he fits in. He can’t imagine losing it. It's the one place that makes him feel connected to the music and to the town itself. Being an orphan means he has no family, except Ruby who is as good as, but the station has always made him feel like part of something bigger. If Kate can truly take that away...Well it’s just a stupid gala, the only plans he has is the annual scary movie night with Ruby. He can give up one night to DJ the Mayor’s Gala. The only problem is that once Kate has him under his thumb, he just knows there’s going to be no getting out.

Stiles picks up his whiteboard, scribbling out a message and sticking it to the window.  **Do you have a computer?** The answer doesn’t come immediately, it takes so long in fact that Stiles thinks the mystery nephew might not be at the window any more. Just as he’s about to put the board away a piece of paper is held up across the street.

**I’m not a caveman** , it reads. Surprising a laugh out of the DJ.

**GMAIL?**

Stiles is pretty sure he’s pushed too far when the paper disappears and doesn’t return. He tries not to let it bother him, it’s not like they’re friends, he knows nothing about that guy except that he wears leather and never leaves the house. He distracts himself, trying to come up with the best playlist he can for his shift and reminding his listeners to submit their requests for the last hour. That all takes about forty minutes, and then he’s back to ignoring the weird feeling of hurt and regret. He almost wishes he'd never asked.

He’s reaching for a bag of gummy bears, his go to comfort food, when he notices the new pop-up in his inbox.

From: DHALE@GMAIL.COM

To: THE_Stiles@GMAIL.COM

Subject: Hi from across the street

Stiles clicks on it so fast the pointer is nothing but a blur. The body of the message is concise, not that he expected anything more. Simply reading:

**Hello,**

**This is awkward, I don’t know what to say, but I set up this account so I guess I should use it.**

**D**

This absolutely should not make Stiles as happy as it does. 

  
  
  


**BEFORE**

  
Genim was a little nervous, going back to the city after three years away. His mother’s sudden death, along with several others, of influenza shortly after the last Feast of Fools they’d attended had kept them away. Their focus had been on rebuilding the tribe and training the younger members to take on more prominent roles as they traveled to more subdued festivals. Now though, Stiles’ father, and now tribe leader, has decided it was time to travel back to The Feast. It would be Genim’s first visit as the principal dancer. 

Of course, it was not only a touch of stage fright he found himself contending with. No, his mind was drawn to thoughts of Derek.  His best friend, the man who had saved him twice, and who had no idea where Genim had been these past years. 

They rolled into the city at midday to a surprising lack of fanfair. By that time the markets should have been open, colorful flags flying and singing echoing through the streets advertising the start of The Feast at sundown. There were still flags, but they were few and far between and the peddlers that they did see were more subdued that Genim remembered. Though perhaps it was just the exuberance of youth that had lent such flair to his memories. 

They parked the caravans down a dead end street between a large lumber mill and a waxworks. Both were closed for The Festival, leaving plenty of space to sort the carts and horses. Genim jumped from his place at his father’s side almost before the caravan stopped moving.

“Gen!” his father called. “You be back before the opening!”

“Of course, papa!” Genim waved, making his way quickly to the center of town. He was not sure how he’d be received by Derek, but he could only hope he would forgive him when he told him why he’s been away. 

He took the streets quickly, zigging and zagging through the crowds, but being careful to avoid rushing into anyone. He did not want a repeat of last time. The Cathedral laid directly ahead, doors open to the masses, though not many entered on festival weekend. He ran up the stairs, sparing only a moment to the thought that Derek may have no longer been there before entering. 

The Cathedral was as he remembered it, cold with dim light streaming in through the stain colored window panes. He made his way slowly towards the left, trying to avoid being noticed as he strode towards the staircase that would lead up to Derek’s home. He opened and shut the door carefully and as silently as possible behind him, before he took a moment to look up at the flights of stairs. It felt like both forever and yesterday that he last made the journey. With a smile, He sped his way up, running at a fast but steady pace so as not to wear himself out. Of course by the time he reached the arch of the bell tower he was still out of breath. He’d defy anyone to climb those stairs without being winded.

It was quiet on the roof, only the vague sounds of the people in the streets and the wind blowing through the arches made themselves heard. The place too looked different. Where as before Derek would line the roof with carvings and various projects he was working on, now all that was left seemed to be discarded or half finished. Genim made his way carefully to the small door he knew led to Derek’s living quarters. 

He was not sure what to expect as he slowly turned the knob, but as he pushed the door slowly inward he gasped. The room was a shambles, tables filled with scraps of paper and molding food, shelves buckling under the weight of books or broken entirely. 

He stepped further in, only the dim light coming from the fireplace to guide him through the mess. It left Genim at a loss. “Who are you? What do you want?” a gravelly voice demanded, startling Genim back towards the door.

“D-Derek?” He ventured.

“What, did the monks send you?” the voice growled again as a body moved slowly in a chair just outside the light of the fire.

“No, Derek, it’s me.”

“Me who?” Derek demanded, “I do not wish for company. If the monks have sent you, tell them you could not find me and leave me to my solitude.” That was it, Genim decided, straightening his posture and marching towards the other man.

“Derek, if you do not get out of that chair and greet your best friend properly I swear to the heavens I will make you regret it!” There was silence for a long while, Derek seemingly shocked at being addressed so, until suddenly he stood.

“Genim?”

“Do you have another best friend I don’t know of?” He breathed, then tensed, “Well I suppose you could by now. I know I’ve been gone a long while. It wasn’t my fault you understand, but I could understand if you’d found someone else to spend your time-ooof!” Genim wheezed as Derek rushed towards him, gathering him up in his arms. 

“Genim? Is it really you?”

“Of course it’s me silly, you didn’t think I’d abandon you forever did you?”

“I…” Derek’s only response was to hold him tighter, before sitting him back down on the ground. “Just a moment” he insisted, taking a long match from beside the fireplace to light, he took a moment, moving around the room to several candles, bringing the room to a comfortable brightness. 

“Derek, what happened?” Genim asked, reaching a hand out as his friend turned to him. His face, having always held one long scar now held another, this one dissecting the other at an angle, a long line that ran over the bridge of his nose to just above his lips, marking the area with an x. 

“It’s nothing.” he insisted, grabbing his outstretched hand in his own.

“Derek” Genim smiled, bringing his arms around the older man and bringing him forward. The embrace was soft but firm, both unable to get close enough after so long apart. Stiles grasped the fabric of Derek’s cloak, fingers feeling the gnarled lines of his unfortunate shoulder as the other wrapped around the man’s waist. “It’s been too long” he croaked, tears prickling behind his eyes. 

“Let me look at you” Derek said, leaning back from the embrace, but his hands did not leave the younger’s shoulders. “You’ve grown.” He smiled.

“I’d say I’m as tall as you now” Genim nodded.

“Though not as handsome.” Derek teased.

“Never.” Genim agreed, though he knew his friend would take it in jest. To Genim though, Derek was handsome, he always had been, ever since that first day when he saved a ten year old from falling to his death. His body may have been damaged some under his thick cloak and he may have had some scars, but for the life of him Genim could think of no one who had ever captivated him the way his friend did. “I’ve missed you.” Genim said, unable to hold the stare any longer.

“Where have you been?” Derek asked, letting his hands drop to his sides. 

“It’s a long story.” Genim shrugged, looking around once again at the room, “Perhaps I could tell you as we clean this mess.” Derek blushed, but didn’t look surprised at Genim calling attention to his living arrangements.

“I do not require your help in cleaning my own rooms.”

Genim raised an eyebrow,” uh huh, okay” he said, bending down to pick up an apple core and tossing it in a nearby bucket. “Lets get started shall we?”

An hour later and the room was cleared, everything broken or rotting thrown into the bucket at Genim’s insistence, even when Derek insisted he could fix this item or that. Genim had also thrown open the small boarded up windows to let light shine into the room. Derek was looking far too pale, his natural skin tone had always been something a bit deeper than Genim’s.

“I am sorry about your mother” Derek said as he sat a chair up from where it laid sideways on the floor. “I know how close you were to her.”

“It was...hard.” Genim nodded, finding no proper way to describe his grief, but time and study had lessened the hurt some. It was now to where, though still constant, the pain was less prevalent. “Father is our tribe’s leader now, it took some time to get used to, him not being born to it after all, but our people are happy now. Things seem to be almost as they were before.”

“And you’re a dancer now.” Derek smiled.

“The principal dancer actually, I’ll be on the big stage tonight.”

“Tonight?” Derek’s eyes grew wide,”Are you sure?”

“Of course, I’m sure, it’s the first night of The Feast.”

“Must you though?” he asked, laying a well worn blanket over his bed, his back to Genim.

“Of course, my tribe always opens The Feast, well not for the last few years obviously, but it is tradition.” Derek remained silent, “Why do you ask?” Derek did not turn to him, “Derek, is there something you’re not telling me?” he asked as he walked over to his friend, grabbing hold of a tense forearm, “What’s wrong?”

“You do not know” his friend replied, hands clasping tight to the blanket he’d been setting to right.

“Don’t know what?”

“It’s different now” he said, turning slightly to face Genim, “My father he…” Derek’s eyes squeezed closed, his forehead furrowing, “the night I went out…” 

“What is it?” Genim asked, moving his thumb along his friend’s forehead to ease the lines of stress.

“The night I went out to see you perform” Derek sighed, “My father was here when I came back, he said someone had seen a deformed boy challenge a sentinel in the square. He knew it was me of course, the person described my cloak and shoulder.”

“I-is that how you got this?” Genim asked, cupping Derek’s cheek, “is it because I asked you to come? Is this my fault.?” 

“What he did is not your fault, it is my own. I knew not to leave.” 

“He beat you! He marked your face because of me...Because I was too selfish to accept that you couldn’t come to see my show!” Genim stepped back, feeling unworthy to touch his friend after his behavior had led to his punishment.

“No” Derek growled, grabbing Genim’s hand and bringing it back to his face, “No, I would not have you blame yourself for this. I did nothing I did not wish to do.”

“Derek…” Genim surged forward, unable to help himself. He had thought of Derek often while he was away. His humor and his honor and the way he saved him and at times he’d thought of him like this, with his arms around Genim and his lips pressed to his own. Derek did not move at first, still as could be for the count of three before he returned the kiss. His lips though broken by a scar were soft and plush against Genim’s own, moving slowly to taste. 

“I would not have you hurt for the world.” Genim whispered as they parted.

“Nor I, you. Which is why I worry about your performance tonight.”

“What do you mean?”

“Since Gerard caught me, his dislike of gypsies have climbed to new heights. As much as it pained me to be without you these last few years, I was almost glad of your absence since it meant you would come to no harm.”

“Derek, the cities have never been friendly to gypsies. Believe me, I know how to handle myself.”

Derek shook his head, “It’s not as it once was, Genim. It’s not just harsh words or shoves, the sentinels themselves have been known to go after gypsies for no reason other than looking at them askance.”

“Have you forgotten our last meeting? Sentinels have always been unfriendly to my people.”

“It’s not...it’s widespread. Last year an entire camp was nearly killed!”

“Killed?”

“Yes, there was a fire. they claimed that it was caused by an unattended lantern but I heard my father talking to one of his men, it was set by a sentinel, at his command.”

“Surely it was just a misunderstanding.” Genim insisted but Derek shook his head once more.

“No, he’s become mad with it, blaming the gypsies for my misbehavior.”

“You really believe a man would kill an entire tribe just because his ward snuck out to attend The Feast?”

“I-I don’t, it’s what I heard.” he sighed.

“I believe you Derek, but perhaps what you heard was taken out of context. No matter a man’s faults, I cannot believe he would condemn an entire group of people for one tiny transgression.”

“I only know what I heard, but he has been different. I could not bare it if he hurt you.” Though the topic is serious Genim could not help but smile, his heart light 

“I will be careful” he promised, lifting his lips to Derek’s once more. “I will not lose you now that I’ve just got you back.”

“Please” Derek said, voice rough, “be mindful, that’s all I ask.”

Genim did his best to stay quiet and unobtrusive as he made his way back to the camp after bidding Derek goodbye for the night. The streets were festive, but as he noticed before, the event seemed somehow subdued. Of course it could have just been because The Feast hadn’t actually started yet, and wouldn’t until Genim got up to perform. He tried to let it slide, instead focusing on remembering his routine. He’d perfected it over the last couple of years as they’d traveled to smaller events, and now he was more confident in his skills than he'd ever been. Melissa said he was just as good as his mother was, a compliment he planned to live up to as best he could. 

His mother was beautiful when she danced, all dark hair and tan skin with big brown eyes. She could enrapture audiences with her dancing. Genim breathed deeply, stepping up into his caravan and shutting the door behind him. He wouldn’t disappoint her tonight, or their tribe. He would make them all proud.

It was almost dusk when Genim pulled out his garments. He undressed quickly sliding into the loose silk pants. The silk was cobalt blue, loose and smooth hanging down just past his knees where they came together at intricately sewn cuffs. He wrapped two colorful scarves around his hips, one a bright fuschia and the other jade green, both having belonged to his mother. The fuschia one was lined with delicate bells that echoed as he moved and would compliment the rhythm of the music when he danced. He pulled on a delicately patterned gold vest over his naked chest and his wardrobe was complete. 

“Genim!’ a knock sounded at his door, “We need to leave son, or we’re going to be late.”

“One moment papa!” he called, sitting down before his mirror and quickly lining his eyes with kohl. 

“Now!’ his father called and Genim heaved himself up and out of the caravan to meet his tribe.

The crowd was still as big as he remembered when Genim got to the stage. He peeked through the well used curtains as the numbers grew and people shuffled for the best view. To the side a large viewing box had been built, holding seats for the city’s elite. He wondered if the mayor, Derek’s loathsome guardian, would be among them. Behind him the tribe’s musicians were setting up, tuning their instruments and grabbing pillows to make themselves comfortable at the back of the stage. 

“You’ll be great.” Genim jumped back as a hand landed on his shoulder, “She would be very proud.” his father said, bringing him in for a hug. 

“Thanks, papa.”

“Try not to fret too much, this is nothing you haven’t done a dozen times over.” Genim nodded and his father made his way to the back of the stage to take his seat with his violin. Scott smiled and waved from his place beside his father, positioning his drum comfortably for the opening number. Genim smiled back, too nervous to give his friend more than a brief wave before he moved to the center of the stage and hit his mark.

The music started up small and light, building as the curtains slid open. The sun had just fallen and the torches lining the stage and surrounding areas lit all at once as their singer Clopin began to belt out a fast paced celebratory song welcoming all comers to The Feast of Fools. The cheers of the crowd seemed to multiply as streams of wildly colored confetti burst forward from the stage and Genim began to dance. 

The jig was fast, enrapturing the festival goers and the song was one that was known well. The audience began to sing and hoot as Genim made a circle around the stage being as engaging as possible, before throwing himself towards a large thin pole set at the end of the stage and using it to propel himself around in tight entrancing circles. His bare feet echoed against the wood of the stage as he landed back on it to cheers and some inappropriate but expected comments from some of the men at the front. As the first song ended Genim smiled, bowing to the audience and to the city’s elite that sat aside in their box.

Genim waited for a moment, striking a seductive pose in the center of the stage as their chemist Deaton lit several pots around the stage that began to emit colorful smoke. the audience clapped delighted as the scene was set. Someone yelled something that made Genim blush, but he just winked, waiting for his cue. The music had just begun to sound when Genim noticed a familiar offset shoulder.

He swung around, rolling his shoulders slowly and spinning sensually to the ground as the melodic music swelled. He laid his torso out across the stage, descending the last few inches as if he’d been been struck down before slowly raising his chest up, arms opening one at a time and reaching out to his sides. Genim took the opportunity to find the familiar silhouette, he could see him, standing a row back from the stage towards the right corner. Genim smirked and winked before bending himself backwards, spine arching and hips up. the music began to build tempo and Genim smiled as he reached back, legs coming forward and flipped himself delicately over, landing on his feet to loud applause. 

The music continued to build lead by his father’s fiddle and Genim let his body move gracefully through the colorful smoke, keeping an eye on Derek’s still form. His soul seemed alight knowing Derek was there watching him dance. His turns were sharper, the movement of his hips more sinuous and his tumbling more precise as his tribe guided him along with their music. The song was about love, about the first blushes of lust and then the fast descent into all consuming want. His steps were slow as the song crashed and built, his hands rotated at the wrist as his hands rose showing off his torso and he stepped up to the end of the stage. He turned and rolled his hips. If his body seemed drawn more to the right of the stage than usual, well the audience did not know the difference.

The song ended and Genim dropped to the floor listening to the thunderous applause. His breathing was heavy but he was still graceful as his father came forward, offering him a hand up. 

“It’s that time once again!” His father cheered, a festival mask in place over his face, “To crown this year’s King of Fools!” The crowd cheered loudly and the rest of the tribe made their way from the wings of the stage.

“Come on! Come all!” they sung, and Genim stepped forward to the center to join in the song. “ Come one, come all! Close the churches and the schools, It's the day for breaking rules” Genim skipped up the stage waving one of his colorful sashes as he spun and sung, “Come and join the feast of...Fools!” The crowd parted as the tribe joined the audience, dancing and handing out flowers and ribbons as they continued to sing. “Once a year we throw a party here in town,  once a year we turn all the city upside down, Every man's a king and every king's a clown,  Once again it's topsy turvy day!”  Genim laughed as two of his tribe lifted him up on their shoulders so he could step up onto the ledge of the boxes the Mayor and other elite sat in.

“Look at this disgusting display” he heard the mayor say, as he danced down the ledge stopping to wink at him. No one in Genim’s opinion should be grumpy during The Feast of Fools. He looked down as he came to the end of the ledge, putting him just above Derek who he could see making small worried aborted movements below. 

“Catch me, love!” He laughed stepping off the edge as the well to do behind him gasped in shock. It wasn’t a long fall but far enough that if Derek hadn’t caught him in his capable arms, he would most certainly be injured. “Hi” he whispered, looking up into Derek’s unamused eyes and surging forward to give him a quick kiss. “ It's the day the devil in us gets released” Genim sung, hopping out of Derek’s arms, “It's the day we mock the prig and shock the priest!” he danced back towards the stage, keeping hold of one of his love’s hands in his excitement. 

“Gen…” Derek scolded, trying to take his hand back, but Genim would not relent, he was having too much fun. His tribe was all around him, the audience was loving every minute of the celebration, this was the moment he'd been waiting for all his life, and the only thing that could make it better was to have Derek by his side. “Everything is topsy turvy at the Feast of Fools!” Genim laughed reaching out for the hands that his father and Scott lowered to him and flinging himself back on stage with a wild spin mid-air. 

Derek landed behind him, less elegantly but a solid weight against his back that made Genim smile. “Here hold this” he said, handing Derek the corner of a large embroidered but solid tarp. 

“What?” Derek asked, but he took it nonetheless, only noticing briefly that three other tribe members held the other corners before Genim jumped into the center.

“Pull it tight!” he yelled, and when Derek did, so did the others and Genim was sent high into the air. He laughed flipping in midair as crowd continued to sing. He landed easily, being heaved up into the air again almost immediately, this time whipping his scarves around as he spins. “Topsy turvy! Everything is upsy daisy!” Genim went up and down tumbling and smiling as the singing continued.Only realizing something was wrong when he heard a scream and instead of landing on the soft material of the tarp he landed hard on the stage, his body rolling to a rough stop on the wooden floorboards.

“Gen!” Derek called, as he climbed to his feet, shaking his head to clear the dizziness from the sudden stop. The crowds around him were silent and still looking off to Genim’s right. He followed their gaze and immediately understood why. Several sentinels were on stage, one had Derek by the neck, his hood having fallen back from his scared face. 

“Derek!” Genim yelled, surging forward to help him, only to be caught by a strong arm around his torso. He struggled for a moment, only stopping when he realized it was his father that had grabbed him.

“What’s the meaning of this?” His father asked, sliding off his mask and holding tight to his son.

“Well” a voice intoned from behind the sentinel, The mayor walked slowly but commandingly up on to the stage. “You see, the sentinels and I have decided that we can no longer have you and your kind disrupting the peace of our city.” He sneered, “Despite stricter policing and punishments each year, you and your kind continue to be a nuisance. This  _ Feast _ ,  your acts or petty thievery and debauchery infect this city like a disease.” He turned stilling for a moment when he noticed Derek among the gypsies. His eyes flickered wide and bright with a fire that betrayed a will to harm. Still though, he looked away, out into the crowd of spectators, “The city council, for the good of the people of this city, say no more these filthy displays will cease immediately.”

“You can’t do that” Genim’s father said, “The Feast dates back hundreds of years, it’s a tradition.”

“Vermin cannot have traditions” Mayor Argent quipped, “And that is what you are, roving packs of vermin descending on our streets, encouraging sin... greed, thievery, lust...” He said the last turning to Genim. 

“You wish” He sneered. 

“Shut your filthy mouth boy” The Mayor seathed, stepping towards Genim.

“Father, please…” A gasp echoed from the crowd. 

“Silence!” a loud smack reverberated through the silent square as The Mayor’s gloved hand landed across Derek’s face, leaving a trail of blood from his mouth.

“Don’t touch him!” Genim yelled, renewing his struggle against his father’s hold.

“Silence Genim” His father said, handing his son back to Scott and Deaton as he stood between him and the mayor. “What is it that you want from us?”

“Oh I should think that was obvious.” The sinister man smiled, “I want you contained, like the infestation that you are. As I see it there’s only one way to deal with vermin, burn it out.”

The scene turned to chaos immediately, fire setting the stage alight and the crowd running away in a panic. The sentinels grabbed the nearest gypsies they could, taking them away or knocking them into the arms of other’s waiting to take them. Genim only had eyes for Derek though, who was struggling against the hold of two sentinels as they dragged him away from the stage and out of sight. “Come Genim, we have to go, now!” his father urged, pulling his son back the opposite way of the soldiers.

“No! I’ll not leave him!” Genim said, pushing away and rushing through the chaos to where he last saw Derek. His father yelled after him but Genim could not bear the idea of leaving Derek to be punished, not at his disgusting guardian’s hands and not because of him. Not again. 

The square was utter confusion, fire and swarms of people rushed for safety while sentinels forced gypsies into waiting cart or simply sliced through those resisting. Most resisted. Genim’s eyes filled with tears as a scream rang through the square and he turned to see Lydia fall motionless on the ground.  He could only hope his father and Melissa were getting Scott out.

“No!” he heard Derek roar and turned just in time to see the sentinels forcing him down a small alleyway. Genim ran, ducking past fleeing citizens and turning into the alley without a moment’s hesitation. He skidded to a stop when he saw Derek on the ground before the soldiers. He had nothing to defend himself with and no hope of winning against two strongly built men even if he did. Genim moved without thinking. Derek would come to no more harm because of him. He grabbed at one of the scarves wrapped around his waist, sliding it off and lifting a large stone from the ground. Quietly, he settled the large rock in the end of the scarf, wrapping it and tying the end around it so that it was secure. It would have to do.

“What should we do with him?” one of the soldiers asked, motioning to Derek. None of them had noticed him yet. “He’s been not but trouble for the mayor since he took up with that gyp, might do him a favor getting rid of him. Hell, we might even get a commendation.” Genim swung his scarf, the large stone hitting it’s mark, crashing into the back fo the man’s skull. He was down before the other even knew what had happened.

“Step away from him.” Genim commanded, stepping forward into the middle of the alley way. The other sentinel looked shocked to see him, standing nonchalantly and swinging the scarf at his side, ready to lash out again if need be.

“Here to save this freak, are you?” 

“I said, step. away.”  

“I don’t think I will” the soldier smirked, grabbing his sword from the scabbard at his side. 

“Bad decision” Genim smiled before the man was forcibly turned around and a large fist crashed across his face once, twice and three times and then the sentinel was down, unconscious, and Derek stood where he’d been, breathing heavily.

“Are you okay?” Genim asked, rushing to his friend’s side.

“I’m fine.” Derek breathed, looking up into Genim’s eyes and cupping his jaw with one warm hand. “Are you- were you hurt?”

“No, no” Genim shook his head, “it was just a fall, nothing I haven’t had before.”

“You should be more careful.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” 

Derek sighed, the sigh of the extremely patient and put upon, then pulled Genim into a soft kiss. “I am glad you are alright.”

“You there!” a voice boomed down the alley.

“Run, we need to get out of here” Genim moved, grabbing Derek’s hand and leading them further down the alley, away from the unconscious sentinels. 

They stuck to the shadows, stopping for silent minutes as sentinels passed or clashed with others. They had to make it back to Genim’s tribe. Once they were together they could figure a way out of the city to safety. When the mayor passed one of the shadows they were hiding in Derek tensed at his side, breaths coming in short pants, but Genim only held tighter to his hand until the man disappeared from view. 

The scene when they reached the place they’d parked their caravans was devastating. There were bodies, oh so many more than Genim could bare to count and his home, the caravan he’d grown up in with his mother was nothing but dark ashen wood. It was nearing morning, the sun just reaching the horizon, and Genim was frozen. He felt as if his whole life was gone, swept away in a single moment. He saw Deaton among the bodies, his hand clenched tight around a sword they had often used as a prop, dull enough for children not to cut themselves on, and then...oh no..

“Melissa!” He called, running to her form and falling to his knees at her side, “no no no” he chanted, turning her onto her back and brushing her thick curling hair from her eyes, “please no.” he sobbed. There was a gash across her neck, blood congealed but wet, and her open eyes were sightless as she stared up at him. “No!”  arms came around him from behind, one higher than the other, Derek then. He didn’t speak, didn’t try to make the scene okay or help Genim make sense of it. He just slowly pried Genim away. 

It took them two hours to make their way out of the city, it was two days before Genim would speak again.

  
  



	5. Careful Fear & Dead Devotion

 

**NOW**

Mayor Mills’ Halloween gala is a masquerade, because of course it is. What could be better than wearing some subpar plastic mask and breathing in your own expelled breath all night while trying to play music? Stiles sighs, hating that Alison is so proud of him for taking initiative and getting out there for the station. Not that he hates Alison’s adoration, but it makes it made it so Stiles can’t bare to tell her that her crazy aunt basically strong-armed him into it. 

Perusing the email he’d just received from the Mayor’s office, Stiles sees that proper costume attire is required, not requested, per Mayor Mills. He’ll have to figure out something quick. God knows he doesn’t want to invite the ire of Regina. The email also notes that he’ll have to be there an hour early for set up and that he’ll be expected to use the back entrance for his equipment. Lovely. He clicks shut the informational email and leans back in his chair. At least he has Lily Allen’s snarky lyrics playing overhead to help dull the pain. 

**DHale:** I can’t take much more of this brit chick set.

Stiles scoffs as the mysterious D’s message pops up on screen because the man is obviously a heathen. Who doesn’t like smart snarky brit chick pop? Who? Heathens that’s who. Chloe Howl, Lily Allen, Lady Sovereign, they were all getting him through this morning.

**THE_Stiles:** Don’t hate on the ladies, their sarcasm is the only thing getting me through this hellscape of a Wednesday morning.

**DHale:** That bad?

Stiles looks to the pile of broken parts beside him before turning back to the screen.

**THE_Stiles:** The coffee machine is broken. I weep for my listeners. They are at the will of an uncaffeinated morning host.

**DHale:** How will we survive?

**THE_Stiles:** I wish I knew buddy, but I’ve been contemplating playing something by Lady Gaga for the last hour.

**DHale:** Disco Stick?

**THE_Stiles:** Ha! Even I am not gay enough to get away with playing that at 10am.

Stiles almost doesn’t send it. He’s never brought up his sexuality before. They’ve been talking for almost two weeks, and Stiles would love to say that getting to know the mysterious mechanic has lessened his curiosity. However, if he did say that it would make him a complete and total liar. 

D is funny. Which is some kind of unfair miracle. How does a recluse even develop a sense of humor? God knows it’s not a result of hanging out with his uncle. It’s not right, it’s not  _ fair. _ First the guy made requests via paper in windows, which is cuter than it has any right to be, and the requests were for  _ good _ music. Like the guy had to really delve into stuff on his own time, not just religiously listen to the station. Though it was clear he did that too. Then D fixed Stiles’ baby and now, now it turns out he’s funny? And not just funny, oh no Stiles should be so lucky, he’s witty and snarky and able to keep up with Stiles’ sarcasm. 

Stiles is so out of his depth here. He’s twitterpated as Ruby liked to say, and he doesn’t want to scare D off with the whole coming out thing. Though not telling him seems dishonest. Not that he’s ashamed of his sexuality, he definitely isn't. He’s been out as long as he can remember actually...but the point is, he doesn’t know D’s thoughts, and he’s scared. 

The last date Stiles went on was with Dr. Whale three months ago and that had only lasted until Stiles could call for the check. It had been great to find that the doc was not discerning when it came to the gender of his dates. It was somewhat less attractive that his eyes tended to constantly wander to the nearest attractive backside on display. Whale had been lucky to escape with his manhood intact when Ruby, who had been acting as their waitress, noticed what was going on. (He should have listened to Mary Margaret when she tried to warn him off.) That had been just the latest in a line of disastrous attempts to “get out there.” So yeah, Stiles hasn’t had much luck in the whole dating department. 

It was safe when he and D were just passing notes through windows. It was interesting more than anything, dealing with the shut-in across the street. Now he feels like he knows D, hours of gchat messages between them opening him up to something more than morbid curiosity. D is funny, he’s nice and he somehow seems to think that Stiles is all of those things too. So now he’s left with, dare he say it, _f_ _ eelings.  _ What could go wrong?

**DHale:** You okay? You look like you’re about to have an aneurysm.

Stiles shot up from his seat looking across the street but seeing no sign of D.

**THE_Stiles:** Are you watching me?

**DHALE:** Yep.

**THE_Stiles:** You know that’s kind of creepy right?

**DHALE:** I like to think of it as doing my part for the town of Storybrooke.

**DHALE:** If you can do that type of damage to a coffee machine, I can’t imagine the damage your under caffeinated brain will wreak next. 

**THE_Stiles:** haha, he’s a comedian. 

Stiles smiles before turning around to queue up the next song as the microphone comes back on in the studio. “That was [Disappointed](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3eP4ccOKKW0) by the lovely Chloe Howl, and at the request of a mysterious fan with horrible taste in music, that will conclude my little mini-set of female British artists. Today is Wednesday, and that means only two more days until the Halloween carnival here in Storybrooke, and of course the Mayor’s Charity Gala where yours truly will be spinning the tunes. So make sure to get your tickets early.This year’s proceeds are all going to the Children’s ward of Storybrooke hospital. So be there or hate children." Stiles clicked his screen, starting the next track, "Here’s Belle and Sebastian with [The Party Line](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3vS1Hf3CVGs).”

Stiles isn’t sure if D jinxed him or if the world is just cosmically out to screw him today, but two minutes past the two o’clock hour the station goes down. There’s dead air right in the middle of Jack White singing about being alone in his home. 

“What the fuck?” Stiles stands up, looking around to see if he’s unplugged something, but all the wires and their outlets seem to be in order. He can see the song progressing on his computer screen, and the sound levels on the control board are bouncing up and down as they should be, but no sound is coming through the speakers. He’s standing in the middle of the room completely lost when Allison runs in from her office. 

“What’s happening?”

“I don’t know, I was just sitting here adding a couple songs to my playlist when the whole thing just went dead. Do you think it’s the transmitter?”

“It’s hard to tell, I’m not really mechanically inclined, you stay here and I’ll run down to the tower to check it out.”

“Okay, I’ll...try not to touch anything.”

“Good idea” Allison smiles letting him know she trusts him. “Call me if things come back online while I’m out.”

“Will do” he says, giving her a little salute as she leaves the station and hops into her car. 

The tower is about a ten minute drive from the station, he hopes that’s the problem. This has never happened before and Stiles’ speciality is definitely not technology, unless you count music downloading and running anti-virus before he looks at porn. Neither of which he’s sure will help in this situation. 

They’ve already lost ten minutes of airtime, which isn’t so bad, there will be commercials to reschedule and such, but that he can deal with. If it goes much longer though he may start freaking out. Normally he’d just call Danny, the man is a whiz with computers, but he’s off in the woods camping with his boyfriend Ethan. The world is not fair. Stiles breathes deeply, trying to tell himself that he did not just somehow destroy the station. He flinches back slightly when the door to his side bursts open and a tall hooded figure strides quickly into the room.

“Did you hear a pop?” The hooded man asks, getting down on his knees to look over the control panel. 

“D?” Stiles asks, because it has to be, he’d recognize that leather clad shoulder anywhere, but he can’t get his head around the fact that he’s there.

“Stiles, did you hear a pop before you went off the air?” He asks again, pulling out a set of delicate looking tools from the box Stiles only now notices he’s carrying. 

“Uh, yeah, yeah I think so.” D doesn’t respond, but suddenly, he’s lifting up the control panel to reveal an intricate series of wires and other parts that Stiles is becoming really alarmed about. “Are you uh, sure you should be doing that?” D grunts and it is not as reassuring as he’s sure it was meant to be. 

“Looks like the primary audio circuit burnt out from the connection.”

“Sure, yeah…”Stiles has no idea what that means, “Can you fix-” suddenly the audio flows over the speakers, a gentle rhythm of something Stiles had queued up earlier. “You did it!” Stiles cheers, raising his hands in victory.

“It just a minor patch, you’ll have to have someone with the right equipment come in eventually.” D responds, slowly standing up and turning to Stiles with his tool box in hand.

“You are amazing!” Stiles can’t help but reach out and pull the bigger man in to a hug. D is tense, back ramrod straight, and it suddenly occurs to him that a man who never leaves the house is probably not so big on touching. Which is why he’s a little shocked when D chuckles quietly and wraps his arms around Stiles in return. 

“Really, thank you.” Stiles says, as he backs away.

“It was nothing.” D responds, turning slightly away so that Stiles is unable to look under the deep hood of his sweatshirt.

“It wasn’t nothing, man. This place is my life and it’s come to my attention lately that we’re not overly flush with cash. I don’t want to think about what we’d have to payout because a ton of sponsorships ads got missed while we were off the air.”

“I thought you were a public station?”

“We are to a point,” Stiles explains, ”the town pays for about half of our operating budget, the rest comes from sponsorship ads and events, but it’s a small town, you know?” D nods but doesn’t answer. “You’re a real lifesaver.”

“Anytime.” D raises his hand, stalling for a second before letting the large hand come the rest of the way up to offer a shake. Stiles doesn’t hesitate to take it. He can’t help but wonder how long it’s been since someone really touched D, and as the powerful hand cups his own he can’t help but think about other kinds of touching. He can feel himself blush, the heat rising in his cheeks and chest making them splotchy and unattractive, but D’s head just tilts to the side. Stiles has no doubt that if he was able to see his face, D would be smirking. 

“So... you’re out of the house.” 

D’s hood moves from side to side looking around the room, “Am I? I hadn’t noticed.”

“haha” Stiles rolls his eyes, “You have any plans to make this a more regular thing maybe?”

“What?”

“Well it’s just, there’s this gala thing that I have to DJ.” Stiles continues, screwing up his courage.

“I know.”

“Of course you know, you’re my most avid listener.” Stiles rolls his eyes, “The thing is right now I’m kind of going stag, you know? Not fun in high school, really not fun now when you’re at the age when everyone is asking when you’re going to settle down.”

“Stiles…”

“I mean, I know you’re really not comfortable outside, but it’s a masquerade, yeah? you can wear a mask and no one will know it’s you but me.”

“I don’t-”

“And okay, so we haven’t really acknowledged all the flirting we’ve been doing through messenger,” God he hopes it was flirting, “but this seems like a gesture, you being here, so I just thought you might like to go with me?” 

D is silent for a long moment, still and gripping his tool box tightly before, “I-I can’t”  _ Oh _ Stiles thinks, because of course he’s got this all wrong, he’s gone and humiliated himself in front of D and now he’s probably ruined the tentative friendship they’ve been building.  _ Shit. _

The studio suddenly goes silent again and Stiles wastes no time hopping into his chair to stave off the abject humiliation he’s feeling. Taking the mic in hand, he flips on the sound, “Sorry about that folks, seems like we’ve had some technical difficulties, but thanks to some engineering wizardry we’re back with you.” outside he can see D making his way back across the street, shoulders high and head bowed forward, “Thanks to everyone who helped us out with the technical glitch, you saved the town from being stuck with only top 40 radio to listen to, and me from worrying myself into a full-on panic attack. So...now that we’re back, why don’t I start us off with ‘[Don’t Swallow The Cap](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=joERFHCSgxY)’ by The National.” The song’s intro rises over the air and Stiles tries not to berate himself for his stupidity. When Matt Berninger sings “I have only two emotions, careful fear and dead devotion.” Stiles most definitely does not relate.

  
  


**BEFORE**

The journey from the city was hard, Genim had no shoes and was still clad in the vest and light silk pants he’d worn for the festival performance. Derek for his part, was not used to the amount of physical activity. He’d always climbed the cathedral of course, but that was vastly different from hiking for days through the rocky uneven terrain of the woods surrounding the town. 

They stopped at nightfall each day, huddling around the meager fires they could pull together with kindling. They slept pressed close together, Derek’s strong arms around Genim’s waist and his face hidden in his neck. Genim comforted himself with the feeling of breath on his nape and the knowledge that he at least still had Derek. 

They didn’t talk about what may have happened to Genim’s father or the rest of his tribe. Derek only asked where they’re going once and Genim responded “The Court of Miracles.”  He’d told Derek about it before, The Court was a haven for his people, any gypsy worth their salt knew where it lied in the Great Northern Woods. It was a place where they said anything lost could be found. It was a five day journey by horse, and several more on foot.

Genim was walking along the side of a river, gray pebbles rolling smoothly below his feet and a small waterfall not too far behind him when Derek whispered, “Don’t move.” Genim hearing the serious tone in his voice, stilled immediately only looking up from his feet when he heard something rustling ahead of them. 

He turned and flinched as his heart stilled in his chest. it was wolves. A small pack, three or four at the most, but Derek was too close, and their eyes were trained on him. They must have stumbled across a hunting party without even realizing it. “Get back” Derek whispered, trying to move as little as possible.

“I am not leaving you, you idiot.” Genim scolded, reaching out his arm to grab onto Derek’s cloak.

“No” Derek shrugged off his hold, “They’re focused on me, you need to get back while you can.

“Don’t be ridiculous, take my hand, we just need to run quickly.”

“No, if we run they’ll chase use” Derek warned, looking up into Genim’s face, “I will not lose y-”he slipped suddenly, his right leg losing its place where it had been precariously balanced on the pebbled beach. The wolves growled, shoulders hunching higher as they watched Derek scamper back to his feet. He stepped back in front of Genim, who had moved quickly to Derek’s side when he fell, and as a result had garnered the wolves’ attention.

“If you die, I will kill you.” Stiles sneered, taking a step back and looking around for anything that would aid him in getting himself and the incredibly stupid love of his life out of their current predicament. He could only assume they’d done something very wrong in a past life to be dealing with so many life threatening situations in the past few days. The only thing on hand were some fallen branches. So, without a better option he grabbed them hoping, pretty pointlessly he felt, that they would be sharp enough to do some damage should the pack attack.

“Here” he said, as he leaned over and handed a long but sturdy branch to Derek. Derek looked suspicious but did not seem to have any better ideas, so he grabbed the makeshift weapon. 

Genim looked back up at the wolves, and by god if he didn’t know better he would think they were laughing at them. Their heads were tilted to the side as if trying to figure out their plan but their mouths were wide open, pink tongues wagging in amusement. Yes, that definitely looked like smug laughter to Genim. It was odd that the wolves had yet to attack, humans coming across hunting packs like this were often immediately injured or worse, and yet despite the growling earlier, these animals seemed to have little interest in lunging for their throats. 

They stood still for several seconds, as Derek continued to stand between Genim and wolves. The wolves themselves fluctuated between curiosity and aggressive posturing, Eventually a loud howl went up from deeper in the woods and the wolves scattered towards it, leaving the bewildered pair behind. It was anticlimactic to say the least, but by the end both men were breathing heavily and when Derek finally turned back towards him, Genim was furious.

“You moron!” he yelled, beating his fist against Derek’s chest. “What were you thinking, putting yourself in front of me like that?! I’m not a child! You could have died you self-sacrificing piece of-” Derek smothered his words with his lips, his palm sliding up his cheek to soothe him, but Genim resisted, “If you think you can just-” Derek reached out again, drawing Genim’s body to his own and brushing his tongue against the younger man’s lips. 

Genim found himself responding all at once, leaning forward more securely and biting on at Derek’s bottom lip,hungry and needy for the taste. “I can’t” he murmured, dragging his hands through Derek’s hair, “I can’t…” Derek seemed to understand because he let Genim have control, let him bite and kiss and lick at his mouth until both their mouths were sensitive and red. 

That night was the first time he saw Derek’s body. By the light of the campfire Genim laid Derek down, slowly stripping away the cloak he’d always worn, “Wait” Derek said, catching Genim’s hand as he went to pull it away, “What-I’m not...You won’t like…” 

Genim only shook his head, “I adore you, you idiot” he said, bringing his hands beneath the cloak and parting it with his hands until it fell to the earth below him. 

Derek had never really talked about his body. There had been a time or two when they were younger that Genim had asked but Derek had always just shrugged and said that he didn’t remember what happened. When Genim peeled back the threadbare fabric of the shirt beneath Derek’s cloak he could see his friend clearly for the first time. The left side of his chest appeared relatively normal, firm shoulder leading down tapered arms, Stiles leaned down and kissed Derek again, closing his eyes briefly before pulling back and trailing his fingers down over his chest. the skin was taught and firm, muscles well defined from the climbing Derek had always done. He kissed his pectoral, continuing his exploration onto the side that Derek didn’t want him to see, the side he’d always hid from him. 

His right side was completely different than the perfection sculpted on the left, but was no less Derek. his chest was caved in slightly, his ribs an odd boxy shape that created angles where there ought to be smooth planes. Above it, his shoulder was hunched up, either pushed there by the off angle of the ribs or from a separate injury he was not sure, but the muscle there was bunched leaving dips and valleys along his collarbone that Genim traced without hesitation.

“Gen” Derek sighed, shying away as fingertips floated over his sensitive skin. 

“Shh” Genim soothed, “Just let me look at you.” Derek laid silently, if not comfortably, as Genim continued running his hands down from his shoulder, under his ribs to his stomach where things become straight and strong again. “You’re beautiful Derek.” There were tears in Derek’s eyes when he looked up, his head turned just slightly so that he was not looking at Genim. He can only imagine the names Derek had been called, just remembering the things his guardian had called him the day he hid in the shadows made him burn with anger. Derek was so much more than his body, he was strong and selfless and just as Genim had said, beautiful. 

“Der, please look at me.” Derek sighed but turned, “Whatever you’re thinking, whatever you feel about this part of you” Genim said, laying a hand over the uneven side of his chest, “it is part of you, and there is no part of you that I have not loved since I was ten years old.”

Genim sat back as Derek surged up, clutching his sides and bringing his lips forward into a hungry kiss. The light of the fire painted Derek’s skin gold as his shirt fell away completely puddling on the ground behind him. 

Genim planted himself firmly over Derek’s thighs, anchoring him and wrapping his arms around the older man’s neck, tasting salt as Derek slipped his tongue along his bottom lip begging for entrance. Genim met it with his own, an obscene moan crawling from his throat. He had never been this close to another, locked in an embrace as one of Derek’s hands held on to his hip and the other gripped his hair tight at the nape of his neck. “Gen” Derek moaned, and Genim loved it, loved the nickname and the breathy voice that spoke it directly into his mouth. 

“Please, please...” Genim begged, though he was not sure what for. He just knew that he wanted  _ more _ . Derek seemed to understand as always, pushing back and breaking the kiss just long enough to strip Genim of his vest. “These clothes” he said, as he leaned in to kiss him again,his hands continuing to work at untying the scarves around his waist, “your skin, wanted to taste it so bad.” Genim groaned at Derek’s words, leaning back to allow Derek more room to work the fabric off. The colorful sashes were thrown off into the shadows as Derek released them. 

“Wait” Genim stilled Derek’s hands as they reached for the silk of his pants.

“I’m sorry” Derek said, shamefaced as if he expected Genim to reject him now.

“No” Genim ducked into to kiss him, “No, I just, I want to try something. Is that alright?” Derek looked up at him and nodded slowly. “Lay back for me.” Derek did so without complaint, resting his head on his discarded cloak. 

Genim wasted no time, leaning down to kiss softly before he began to lick at the trail of hair below Derek’s navel. He’d thought about what he was about to do a lot. Mostly in regards to Derek himself, a adolescent boy’s dreams ending in a sticky mess. Now though, he had the chance to experience it in reality and he wanted it to be good for Derek. Wanted him to feel how much Genim wanted him, needed him. 

With deft fingers Genim popped the first button of Derek’s trousers, the well used fabric giving way easily to a gentle touch. The second came just as quickly, followed by the third and fourth until his fly was laid open, parting obscenely over the hardening length below. Genim palmed him gently, looking up as Derek bucked into his hand, looking for permission. Derek nodded, pupils blown and Genim couldn’t keep the smirk from his face as he reached into Derek’s pants and freed his cock. “Perfect” Genim breathed over the hot skin, causing the organ to pulse and let loose a stream of pre-cum. He licked slowly down the shaft, the skin below hardening to it’s full impressive length. 

“Gen, christ, your mouth, always your mouth.” Derek swore above him as Genim slid down taking as much of his cock into his mouth as he could. His length was long and wide, and the corners of Genim’s mouth stretched as he bobbed his head up and down licking and sucking until saliva dripped from his chin. He tasted musky and salty and Genim loved it every bit as much as he thought he would. Above him Derek whispered a stream of words that Genim could not make out, but when his tongue ran over the head and along his slit the older man moaned, his hips coming off the ground and sliding his wet cock deeper into Genim’s throat. 

“Do” Geim panted sliding off for a moment, “Do that again.” Derek whined as Genim slipped back down on his leaking cock. He started thrusting forward slowly, and Genim could not help running his free hand down and into his own pants, grasping his length and jacking himself in time to Derek’s motions. He moaned around Derek’s cock, feeling his eyes roll back in his head from the pleasure of Derek in his mouth and his hand around his own cock. Above him Derek stilled and then suddenly a hand was in his hair, holding his head still as Derek uses his mouth thrusting up and down with abandon. 

They did not last much longer after that, Derek coming first, down Gemin’s throat, the younger taking as much as he could before crawling up his lover’s body and kissing him as he jacked himself, once, twice and coming across Derek’s bare chest. 

Genim slept well that night, for the first time since leaving the city. He wrapped himself up, spent and tired beneath Derek’s cloak. His love curling around his back, arm secure around his waist, and did not dream.  

The next day they passed a small but prosperous village. Genim took the opportunity to sneak  in, Derek waited in the woods, taking a cloak from a wash line and pair of boots from the stoop of someone’s house. He felt a little guilty for taking them, but ultimately he knew that there was no way he would make it to the Court of Miracles without more substantial clothing. The days were getting shorter and the wind blew colder as fall started to expand its grip on the woods. Soon the leaves would all turn color and fall and frost would cover the ground in the mornings. 

Derek held fast to Genim’s hand when he returned.


	6. Take My Hand, We're Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings - graphic violence and injury

**NOW:**

 

Stiles feels ridiculous. He has half an hour until he has to be at City Hall for the gala and this is what Ruby brought him.

“Don’t be silly” she says, looking over Stiles’ should in the mirror, “You look fabulous.” he looks himself over again. It’s a masquerade so obviously Stiles knew there were going to be costumes. When Ruby offered to help him out, he didn’t see the harm. Now he’s beginning to see his mistake. 

“What am I even supposed to be?”

“Don’t be dense,” she said motioning to the long red cape draping over his shoulders, “You’re Little Red Riding Hood, obviously.”

“Rubes” he begins turning to his friend, “You do know that being gay doesn’t actually make me a woman, right? I mean why don’t you just dress me up as Dorothy and be done with it.”

“Hey!” She says, pointing a wickedly painted finger in his direction, “You know that I would never make that assumption, I am your best friend. Don’t get twisted. It’s called gender-swap and you work it.” 

Stiles could admit that that there was something appealing he supposed, the black tight jeans clung to his legs and a black shirt showed off his musculature. Even the red cape draped around the top of his torso and down his back a la Thor in an enticing way. So he didn’t look horrible. Even if the hood was a bit much and reminded him in an uncomfortable way of a person he was trying hard not to think about. 

“You are going to knock them dead, Stilinski.” Ruby nods as she places a simple black mask over his eyes, the surface highlighted with red filigree. Stiles just nodded, there was no arguing with Ruby anyway.

It’s been two days since Stiles embarrassed himself in front of D and he hasn’t heard from him since. Of course that could be because Stiles is a complete chicken shit and refused to even sign on to gmail, in the event that there were messages from D explaining that while Stiles was nice, D was just there for the song requests and some light conversation. It’s just something he cannot deal with. Not right now. Stiles turns away from the mirror with a sigh, trying to put D out of his mind. He could drink himself into the booze coma of the eternally single after he got the gala out of the way.

“So do I meet your approval? Can I go now?”

“Yes” Ruby nods, smiling like a proud big sister sending her little brother off to prom. “Oh except wait, one thing!” She says, digging into the bag at her side and taking out a large metal pin, “Here you go, perfect.”The large golden wolf pin holds his cape in place over his shoulder and makes the outfit really come together. Stiles wants to hate it. He kind of loves it.

“Okay, okay, you’ve had your dress-up Stiles time, now I have to go or I’m going to be late.”

“Fine” Ruby sighs, leading him out of her apartment above the dinner and out onto the street. “Please tell me you did not ride that thing here.” 

“What?” Stiles smirks grabbing his longboard from where it’s sitting against the fence. 

“You can’t ride to the Mayor Mill’s gala on your skateboard.”

“Think I can” he smirks. “You gave me a red cape and everything, I’m going to look like a superhero.”

“You’re a moron.”

“Love you too” Stiles laughs, pecking her on the cheek and pushing off on his board. City Hall is only a few blocks away and his equipment is already there and set up courtesy of Allison. (A surprise and relief. The woman was way too excited for community outreach.)  

He passes the station on his way and can’t help looking over at the mechanic’s shop, wishing for a moment he could take back the invite as a rush of embarrassment paints his cheeks red. for the life of him though, he can’t figure out where he got it wrong. The chatting through windows, constant messaging, and him coming out of hiding to get the station on the air….It all seemed to be mean something. Obviously, it was just Stiles’ active imagination. D had made that much clear when he’d turned him down and ran as fast as he could back across the street. 

Stiles sighs, turning the last corner and coming to a stop outside of City Hall. He only gets a few curious glances as he flips his board up from the sidewalk and takes it in his hand. No doubt most of the town is used to seeing him rolling around Storybrooke at this point. 

The decorations inside City Hall are lavish, cream silks mixed with oranges and reds, bringing the fall theme to the forefront and accented with pumpkins and a large cornucopia in the center of the banquet table. The ballroom is set off to the side, equally impressive with colorful leaves and fake, or at least Stiles assumes they’re fake, trees creating an impressive canopy with their limbs. Candle lit lanterns hanging from their bows emit a glow that sets the scene so perfectly, Stiles almost feels as if he has walked into some sort fairytale.  

It isn’t hard to find the DJ booth, it is set in the far corner, the front draped with more silk and fall decor but thankfully nothing laying too close to his equipment. The last thing he needs is something getting stuck in the mixing board while DJing for the town’s elite. He sets his longboard underneath the table and pulls up the rolling stool someone has been thoughtful enough to provide. He has a playlist already created for the event, but he liked to do his mixing and transitions by hand when doing anything live. That way if he can see that the crowd isn’t quite into the music he can mix it up with a faster or slower song without messing with the flow.

“Mr. Stilinski, I presume.” Stiles looks up to see Mayor Mills standing in front of his station. Her hair is pulled back into a tight but elegant updo, her dress green and beaded and she holds a mask in her expensively manicured hands. She looks severe as ever. The mayor is not really known for her approachable demeanor and here she is with her eyes set on him. Yaye...

“Uh, yeah, yep, I’m Stiles Stilinski.” He stumbles, reaching his hand out to shake. The mayor only raises a superior eyebrow until Stiles lowers it again.

“I hope you know, Mr. Stilinski, that the only reason you’re here is because my son Henry requested it. I wanted the string quartet we usually order in, but he wouldn’t be swayed, said your show was the absolute best.”

“Well I-”

“What that means for you, of course, is that any failure on your part will be very disappointing to me, and as such might make me rethink the amount of money in the town’s budget for fledgling enterprises such as yours. Are we clear?”

“Crystal” Stiles answers, a pit growing in his stomach.

“Very good.” Mayor Mills nods, “the guests will be arriving shortly, I suggest you find something welcoming to play.” Her heels clack across the wooden floor as she exits the ballroom towards the front door of City Hall, and Stiles can only breathe deeply again when she is fully out of sight. Great, just how he was hoping to start the night. He quickly starts up the computer system, and begins delving into his playlists for the welcome/dinner music. It takes only a moment for Damien Rice to start out over the speakers, he used a lot of strings on the latest album, hopefully that will garner him some brownie points with the scary mayor.

Dinner goes fine, there are speeches and canapes and enough liquor to relax even the most surly of curmudgeons. Stiles keeps the music light and airy, building slowly as more people get done with their meals and start socializing closer to the dancefloor. Henry waves from his place at his mother’s side and Stiles waves back quickly, not wanting to catch the mayor’s attention again. 

At 9pm exactly the dancing started, mostly younger members of the crowd dragging their significant others out to the sounds of [Tegan and Sara](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9e9NSMY8QiQ) singing about getting closer. By the fifth song though, most of the crowd is dancing, the crowd’s masquerade masks largely being discarded as the heat on the floor rises. Though there are some lone hangouts that seem to be happy with playing the wallflowers. 

It takes him almost an hour to spot the wolf. He’s hanging back in the corner across from the one Stiles and his equipment have claimed and there’s something about him that just calls for Stiles’ attention. He’s not sure what it is at first. The Wolf seems like every other party goer, smartly dressed with a mask, but Stiles' eyes are continuously drawn to him, drifting up and down. He spares a moment from his work to take in the man's strong hands and trim waist, lingering over the build of his chest beneath the white dress shirt, view only obstructed by a black tie and jacket. His solid shoulders draw him in even further, his eyes tracing the shapes of the rounded muscle under...under leather. That’s what’s different, the man isn’t in a suit coat or some other costumed element, he’s wearing a leather jacket, the collar coming up to rest softly just under the edge of his jaw where the wolf mask sits. 

“Hello Stiles” Stiles turns quickly as Kate calls his attention.

“Hey there Kate.” He winces. If there was one person he was hoping to avoid tonight... “Enjoying the party?” She asks, smiling sweetly in her dark purple and gold dress. It looks like she’s supposed to be a jester? Without a hat or mask it’s hard to tell. Whatever the case, her creepy smile is there in full force.

“I just wanted to stop by and say how well I think you’re doing, everyone really seems to be enjoying the music.”

“Sure thing.” He chuffs, lowering a bar on his board and raising another as a song transitions, hoping that she’ll move along. No such luck.

“You’ll save me a dance won’t you?” she leers, and gross, has anyone actually ever liked being treated like this?

“Uh, sorry my dance card is all full up.” 

“Really? I don’t think I’ve seen you dance all night.”

“Well, you know, I am the DJ, not a lot of time to socialize.”

“Surely, you could be spared for one dance.”

“Sorry” Stiles can only hope the expression on his face looks genuine, “but like I said, I promised my  boy friend that I’d take any break I had with him.”

“Ha!” She laughs, “boyfriend? You? I think I would have heard if someone finally decided to…”

“Stiles, are you ready?” A voice says from beside him, Stiles turns to see The Wolf standing beside his desk. “You did promise me a dance, nearly an hour ago.”

“Oh!” Stiles says, clutching on to the save The Wolf is offering him like a lifeline. “Yeah of course, just let me set this next set up.” Stiles switches a few toggles ensuring the next three songs will be automatically played and steps away, taking his savior’s hand. “Sorry Kate, but like I said, I’m spoken for.”

It shouldn’t be a surprise when The Wolf leads him to the dancefloor, but it is. “I didn’t think you’d know how to dance.”

“Why?” The Wolf asks, voice muffled beneath the mask. 

“Well just not a lot of places to learn,” Stiles says as he picks away a piece of imaginary lint from his partner’s leather clad shoulder. “and hiding away above that garage every day I assume you haven’t found the time to visit Mrs. Potter’s dance classes.” 

D stills under Stiles’ hands before letting out a breath and continuing to sway to the music. “How did you know it was me?” he asks.

“Are you kidding? I could pick out this leather jacket from a line-up in a dark room.” D chuckles softly but doesn’t respond. “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t respond to any of my messages.”

“What messages?”

“On GChat.”

“Oh” yeah, oh, that website they used to talk on until Stiles made a gigantic fool of himself, the one he’s been avoiding.

“Oh” D parrots, as if to say ‘yeah you idiot’.

“Sorry” 

“No,” D starts, lifting a hand from Stiles’ waist and taking his hand, “I wanted to apologize, I-when you-”

“It’s okay, I get it, I pushed too hard, saw something that wasn’t there." he blushed, "It’s okay. I’m not fragile, I will get over it.”

“No!” D stops swaying completely, as Stiles looks around hoping the outburst wasn’t noticed, “No,” he says again calmer, “it is there, it is, I’m just bad...with people.” Stiles couldn’t stop the smile forming on his face if he tried.”I’m sorry if I made you feel like I wasn’t, you know…”

“Wanting to bang me in the back of the studio while Alt-J played overhead?”

“Stiles…” D groans, it’s only slightly funny coming from under the mask.

“It’s just a for instance…”

“What time is this thing over?”

“The dancing ends at midnight I think, so an hour?”

“Meet me at my place?”

“Wait, for real?”

“Yes you idiot, for real.”

“Okay.” he promises, his smile broadening even as D turns away and leaves him alone in the middle of the dancefloor. 

The rest of the night goes so slowly that Stiles is tempted to think time has stopped entirely. He plays a number of songs, not that he can remember which ones to save his life. He says hi to a few more people he knows, and talks to Henry about a possible after school internship at the station. Stiles can’t promise the kid will be paid, but they could always use more hands around the station to help organize. Maybe they’d even make some headway on getting the rest of the vinyl onto their digital server.

At the end of the night, he shuts down his computer, palms sweaty from both the heat of the ballroom and his own nerves. He packs up what equipment he can as the last stragglers file out, but leaves most of it for Alisson to grab the next day. He tries to be casual as he makes his way out of the building, narrowly escaping Kate and Peter where they’re talking near the steps of city hall. He shudders just thinking of the evil that could be perpetrated should those two ever team up.

It takes him a max of five minutes to skate over to the Hale’s garage, his red cape now a bit askew and sweat-soaked. He’s not sure what he’s expecting when he gets there. They’ve never kissed, hell they’ve only spoken a hand full of words in person, but they’ve flirted. Stiles knows for sure that it was flirting now, but still, he’s nervous. Frozen in front of the garage, looking up at the windows D used to put notes up in before they started chatting electronically. 

He wants so much, and it unnerves him a bit. This overwhelmingly odd sense of needing to know D from the first moment he saw his shoulder behind the trash-bin. He’d always been intrigued by the requests via window, but from the moment he spoke to him about his jeep he couldn’t stop thinking about him, wanting to know more. It was silly, but it was genuine, more than curiosity, almost obsession and it scares him. 

Behind him Danny is sitting in the studio, only a small dim light on in the studio as he tinkers on his laptop and spins songs. Stiles wonders if he should acknowledge him, go say hi, see how his shift is going. It’s nothing he hasn’t done before, but sudden movement in his peripheral catches his attention, and suddenly D is there, unlocking the gate for him, and holding it open. 

He’s back in his signature hoodie, the hood deep enough to keep his face hidden. Stiles steps through, fiddling with his cape between his hands.

“Hi” D says, shutting the gate behind him.

“Hey, hi, hey there D.”

“D?”

“Uh yeah, it’s what I call you, you haven’t actually ever given me your full name, you know?”

“Oh, it’s Dylan.”

“It’s nice to meet you Dylan” Stiles smirks, Dylan just huffs a laugh and leads them into a side door. It’s dim inside. Just a couple bulbs lighting a stairway. Stiles definitely does not ogle Dylan’s ass on the way up, even if it does looks like it was sculpted by Michelangelo, he has more class than that. 

“It’s not much” Dylan is saying as they enter through the door at the top and into the small apartment he obviously lives in. It’s true, it's not much space wise, there’s a small kitchen, with one row of cupboards and little counter space to speak of. A small two person dining table with one chair sits to the side. In front of him is the living room with two doors leading off of it, which Stiles assumes leads to a bedroom and a bathroom. It's the living room that immediately draws him in. There is an entire wall full of vinyl records, two guitars hang on the wall over the sofa and the whole room is comfy and lived in. In some ways it reminds him of his own home, with splashes of color and patterns intermixing. There's also a collection of rough hewn carved figures lining the windows and several shelves. 

“That’s quite a collection,” Stiles says as he investigates the records, they all seem to be alphabetized, he wishes he could hire Dylan to come organize the station’s backroom, it would definitely benefit. 

“Yeah” Dylan answers, sliding up beside where Stiles is handling a vintage copy of Elvis Costello’s first album. Stiles slides the album carefully back into its allotted place before turning to his host, this is harder than he thought it would be; actually talking to D...Dylan. In his imagination conversation always flowed easily, not taking too much effort to move along, but being here, facing Dylan but not actually able to see his face leaves Stiles floundering.

“Do you think you could…” Stiles begins, motioning to Dylan’s hood.

“I don’t really...do that.”

“Show your face?”

“Yeah.”

“Then how am I supposed to kiss you?” he asks, reaching out gripping Dylan’s shoulder.

“You- you want to, with me?”

“I thought I made that pretty clear with the whole banging me in the studio comment back at the gala.”

“You might not,” Dylan begins, “when you see...”

“I think that if I could fall for you with no face, I can handle whatever you have hiding under there.” Dylan makes a noise in his throat as if he’s about to argue the point, but suddenly, his posture straightens and he nods determinedly. 

His hands come up slowly, gripping the edge of his hood and pulling it down. All Stiles can see is dark, nearly black hair at first, Dylan having tilted his head down. It looks soft, falling just above his ears, which are pale and slightly pink, Stiles runs a gentle fingertip along the edge of one, shocking Dylan into movement. His head comes up and his eyes are wide and frightened as if he is waiting for Stiles to run off and never return. Stiles is pretty sure his own are wide as well, because of all the things he was expecting this was not one of them. 

The man before him is beautiful. 

He can’t imagine what has possessed Dylan to hide himself away, his high forehead slopes gently down into a thin regal nose that flares perfectly at the end over soft looking lips, and his eyes... Stiles has never seen that color in nature before. blue green, gray eyes and seem to change as he awaits Stiles’ judgment. A thin coating of scruff adorns his jawline, tight and angular and perfect. There are scars, yes, one dissecting his plush lips and another crossing over the bridge of his nose but they are well healed and Stiles cannot find a way in which they detract from Dylan’s beauty. They are simply there.

“I’m sorry…” Dylan says, reaching to bring his hood back up, but Stiles stills his hands immediately.

“How?” Stiles starts, he’s not sure how to say all he’s thinking, things along the lines of ‘how could you think you have anything to hide?’ and ‘who must have hurt you to make you feel like hiding was the only option?’ In the end he goes with. “I think I would like you to kiss me now.” Dylan’s eyes which had been trained on the floor shoot back up to his, surprise evident on his face. “please?” Stiles squeaks, worried that he’d overstepped, but that fear is swept away when Dylan steps forward, wrapping his arms fully around him and pressing his mouth against his own. 

Dylan is about the same height but his build is much more impressive than Stiles’ own, he’s still shocked though when the man manages to slip his hands under his thighs and lift him into the air, and by surprised he means incredibly turned on. A feeling that does not dissipate until hours later when he lies spent and sweaty in Dylan’s arms. 

 

**BEFORE:**

 

It happened when they were still two day’s journey from The Court of Miracles. It was after nightfall, but they had decided earlier to keep walking. Hoping that they could both make up for lost time and that it would be easier to go unnoticed. There was no proof that anyone was still after them, but the likelihood of the Derek’s escape going unnoticed by his guardian was slim to none. They couldn’t be too careful. 

They’d just rounded a bend in the road when the sound of hooves reached them. It was easy enough to jump further into the thicket of trees at the side of the road, out of sight of the patrol. Though Derek nearly fell over a downed tree limb in their haste. They watched as a party of sentinels galloped past, both of them holding their breath before sighing in relief when they showed no signs of stopping. It was over quickly, but it filled both men with a sense of dread, knowing that the sentinels were patrolling so far from the town. It had been several days since The Feast, so there was chance the party was on other business entirely. However, it was doubtful that they’d leave Genim and Derek alone if they spotted them out in the open. 

They started off again, though both men were tired. Derek especially, whose gait made it so one side of his body tired rather more quickly than the other. Night wasn’t the best time to traverse the countryside, but they have no choice. “Maybe we should stick to the forest for a bit.” Derek suggested.

“You mean leave the road?” Derek nodded, “You’re probably right,” Genim sighed, not liking the idea of them tumbling their way through the brush and bramble littered forest, “Who knows if there’s another patrol close behind.” Derek took Genim’s hand in his, kissing his temple lightly, before leading them further into the woods. 

It was quiet for the most part, the occasional flitter of bird’s wings or movement of smaller game amongst the foliage. When they were deep enough into the forest that Genim was convinced no one could see them from the road, he stopped and lit a small lantern. 

They’d happened upon it at an abandoned campsite the day before, picking it and a small box of matches from the forgotten remains. When they’d happened upon the clearing, possessions had been strewn everywhere, claw marks through any larger items that may have been of any use to them. A mountain lion attack it looked like, perhaps a bear. Either way, Genim had been glad there were no bodies to be seen. He could only hope that whoever had camped there had gotten away safely. 

The light from the lantern helped some, illuminating more than the pale moonlight they’d been navigating with before. He could see the details of Derek’s handsome face now, the determined yet enchanting eyes and the faded scars. He could also see a good six feet in any direction. It was a vast improvement. 

The knife came as a surprise though.

“Hello pet” a sultry voice whispered in his ear as the cold steel of a blade came to rest against Genim’s adam’s apple.

“What?” he squeaked

“Gen!” Derek called, turning at the sounds of his distress, but two men appeared from the darkness to hold him back.

“We have been tracking you two for miles, hardly the most observant prey.”

“Who-who are you? What do you want?” Genim demanded.

“The more important question is what are the two of you doing in the Northern woods? Don’t you know this is werewolf territory?”

“Werewolves?” Genim nearly laughed, this woman was out of her mind. “Those are just stories.”

“Oh are they?” The woman asked, though by her tone Genim could tell she’s not  _ really _ asking. She slipped slowly forward, around his body until she stood in front of Genim,  never moving the knife an inch. “And I suppose you weren’t making your way to The Big Bad Wolf’s lair to help your disfigured chum here. She could fix him right up, I’m sure.” Derek's cheeks flushed.

“There’s nothing wrong with him” Genim growled.

“Oh no?” She laughed, “What are you sick or something? You into hunchbacked monsters?”

“You” Genim seethed, starting to lunge at her, but stopped short when a sharp sting trailed over his neck. It was just a small cut but he could feel the blood dripping down his taught neck.

“Well I suppose you really would fit in at the den then” She shrugged, not even acknowledging the cut or Genim’s attempt at agression.  

“What do you want?” Derek demanded, still trying to shrug off the hold of the two men behind him. 

“What any hunter wants,” the blonde said, “A hot bath, a good night’s sleep, and to eradicate all monsters from The Great North Woods.”

“Well I’m afraid we’re all out of hot water and soap and we don’t know the location of any monsters either, so maybe you should be on your way and stop wasting everyone’s time.” Genim quipped.

“You certainly have a mouth on you don’t you?” The huntress said, narrowing her eyes. “Maybe I can remedy that.” the knife moves suddenly and swiftly from his neck to his shoulder, diving into the hilt. He didn’t scream, couldn’t even register what happened until he looked up to see Derek’s horrified expression.

“No!” Derek’s hand broke loose at the sight of blood, reaching towards him, as if through power of will alone he could shake off the two meaty men who held him. He looked panicked, his chest heaving and his body battling for freedom as the blonde helped lower Genim slowly to the hard packed earth.

“There there little gypsy” She smiled, leaning Genim against a nearby tree. He was still silent, unable to comprehend what just happened. Not until the blonde reached out and drew her knife back out. He wouldn’t call the sound he made a scream, it was smaller than that, but it set Derek off again, screaming his name as Genim helplessly reclined against the trunk of the tree. 

“What do you say we play a little game?” She asked, leaning in to whisper into his ear, “You tell me where the den is and I, well I won’t let you live, but I’ll make it quick for you and the freak.”

“I’m s-sorry to inform...you...but I have a policy against helping psychopaths” he winced. The huntress pulled back, her eyes ablaze.

“We really must do something about that mouth of yours.” The force of her fist sent Genim’s head back into the hard bark of the tree, his mind reeling, and balance off. When he could see straight again he realized that she was reaching out, forcing his chin down, prying his lips apart with her fingers. 

He was going to lose his tongue, he realized. Oh god! She was going to cut out his tongue! She worked her fingers into  his mouth. He could taste dirt and the tang of copper, his own blood that had trailed down her knife and onto her hands. He could hear Derek still struggling behind her, soft deep thuds of fists against skin, but Genim was too terrified and disoriented to move. He had seen people without tongues before. Homeless beggars on the streets of large cities, no one to rely on and no way to make their needs known. That couldn’t happen to him, it couldn’t! 

The huntress raised her knife, bringing Genim’s tongue out of his mouth as far as she could and Genim struggled, moving his legs and body, trying to shake off her grasp, but he was too weak from blood loss and what was probably a concussion. The tip of the knife was just cutting into the tender flesh sending a searing ache through his body when the woods suddenly erupted with howling.

The blonde flinched back, getting to her feet immediately and grabbing the crossbow strapped to her back. The men followed, releasing their hold on Derek, and looking off into the woods around them. Derek landed heavily at his side, one hand pressing over the wound on Genim’s shoulder while the other cupped his cheek. “...Gen...Gen are you okay?”

“M’fine” he mumbled, letting his head land on Derek’s shoulder as the howls around them seemed to grow louder. 

“Can you stand?” Derek whispered, trying not to draw the attention of the hunters, who were standing facing away from them as if preparing for an attack. Genim nodded, leaning into Derek as he wrapped an arm around his waist and helped him to his feet. They had two choices, the road or the woods,. If they went back towards the road they would run the risk of being found by The Mayor’s sentinels. If they stuck to the woods, they could run into the wolves that seemed to be circling them. Derek took off further into the woods, opposite the direction the hunters were focused on, if they had any luck the hunters and the wolves would kill each other off. 

Genim just caught a glimpse of white and grey fur flying towards the blonde before Derek directed them down over the side of a hill and back into the darkness. Without a lantern, and with Genim’s injuries, their steps were clumsy, but they made it down the hill and away from the sounds of violence behind them.

“How are you feeling?” Derek asked, once they were far enough away from the carnage to relax slightly.

“Fine, just..sore.” Genim replied, taking more of his weight back as his head cleared some. He couldn’t imagine the strain of carrying him was good for Derek’s muscles. Derek let him go, but grabbed one of his hands to lace their fingers together while Genim kept pressure on his wound with the other.

“We’re lost.” Genim noted, and they were. He was not even sure what direction the road laid in any more. They hadn’t stayed on a straight path since leaving the hunters and wolves behind, and now they seemed to have wandered into a thicker area of the forest. The light of the stars in the sky barely even breached the heavy boughs above them.  Derek grunted in agreement but kept walking. 

“We should stop” 

“We can’t, you’re injured, we need to get you to The Court of Miracles as soon as possible.”

“Derek, we don’t even know if we are going in the right direction. Walking any more could be just as likely to take us further from the court rather than closer.”

“Well perhaps we’ll come across a cabin or something, somewhere we can get you help.”

“You know as well as I do that the chances of that are slim, we need to rest.” 

“I can’t lose you” Derek whispered, squeezing Genim’s hand hard. 

“You won’t, but I can’t go on any further right now. I need rest.” Genim knew it was playing dirty, telling Derek they needed to stop for him. Derek would always do whatever he believed was best for Genim. 

“Fi-” 

Genim wasn’t sure what happened between one second and the next, but suddenly Derek was just gone. An anguished scream coming from the dark. “Derek!” Genim yelled, his heart in his throat, “DEREK!” There was no answer and Genim stepped further in the direction he’d been standing, “Der-” he stopped suddenly his feet reaching the edge of a steep drop. “No, no no no no no” he muttered, getting down on his knees in the dark and feeling along the edge. The drop was sudden, going out as far as he could reach in either direction, crumbling earth leading off into a black drop that he could not even guess the depth of. “DEREK!!!” There was still no answer, “Derek please! DEREK!” 

“What has happened?” An unfamiliar voice asked beside him, red eyes stared at him, illuminating fair skin and long brown hair. “Boy, what’s happened?” She repeated.

“He’s fallen, I can’t tell…” He started looking back into the darkness.

“Stay here” she warned suddenly, lowering her legs over the side of the drop, “I’ll go see where he is.” 

“What-who, who are you?” Stiles could tell she was not human, her eyes shining too brightly in the dark.

“I am the only one here to help you.” She answered simply, as she slid easily over the edge, disappearing just as suddenly as Derek had.

Genim could do nothing. He’d never felt so helpless, so alone, as a stranger went into the pitch black of the night to find the one person he had left. He was shivering from blood loss and adrenaline, his hands shook dirt loose where they clutched at the side of the drop. He was petrified, more afraid than he could ever remember being. Even when he’d returned to his tribe’s campsite, seen it burned and gone, he at least knew that his home was no more. That Melissa was dead… Now Derek was missing, lost somewhere close but unseen, with Genim unable to offer any help. 

For several seconds, all he could hear were feet sliding against dirt and the rush of the wind through the trees. His heartbeat so hard it almost made him deaf to even that.  It was a relief when the woman’s voice called out, “I’ve found him!” 

“I-is he okay?” The woman did not answer, “Is he alive? Please tell me!”

“He lingers” The woman replied, coming up over the edge of the drop with Derek’s heavy body over her shoulder. He was not sure how she’d managed the weight, his frame almost twice as bulky as her own, but he was thankful. At least he was until she laid him down beside him. Derek’s eyes were shut, blood soaking his cloak over his gnarled shoulder and rib cage.

“What happened?” He asked, reaching out to tug the clothes away from Derek’s injuries. It was difficult to see in the dark, but he  still gasped when he saw the damage. The skin of his chest was like raw meat, scratched and open to reveal bits of stark white bone beneath. He would never survive this. Not here in the forest, possibly not if he had access to the best medical care. He was going to die.

Genim felt all of his will leave him. The will to get to The Court, his will to escape the hunters and wolves, even his will to remain conscious. All of it is useless without Derek. 

“The ground is treacherous where he fell, sharp rock and other debris” The woman explained, “He must not have seen it in the dark.” Genim could not bring himself to speak, watching Derek’s chest rise in short pants, slowing with every inhale. He couldn’t feel anything. He knew that tears were rolling down his face, but he could not bring himself to touch Derek again, to accept what he was seeing. “I am sorry.” The woman said placing a hand on Genim’s shoulder.

“Don’t!” Genim demanded, turning to her and shaking off her touch, “He’ll be fine. He wouldn’t leave me, not after everything.” The woman gave him a pitying look, “Do you hear me?” Genim turned back to his lover, “Don’t you dare leave me” he said, sitting up and touching his hand to Derek’s cheek, bringing his face towards him, “I adore you, you idiot. Please don’t make me go on without you, I could not bear it.” His vision was going in and out, his injuries coupled with stress and despair making him weak. “Please…” he pleaded, as he laid his head down over Derek’s chest. “Please Derek…”

“Boy...boy listen” the woman said, “I can save him.” Genim was sure he misheard, there was nothing anyone could do, not with Derek’s body in the shape it was. “I can save him” she said again, “but you have to give me permission, as his mate, I need your permission.” Genim’s vision was darkening at the sides, his head feeling light and fuzzy, but still he managed to nod.

  
  
  
  



	7. Turn & Face The Strange

**NOW:**

 

Stiles isn’t shocked when he wakes up alone. He is however, comforted to hear Dylan stomping around in the next room. The smell of bacon is also welcome. He doesn’t get up right away though, rolling onto his back in the comfortable bed and stretching out his legs and torso. His muscles are sore, but in the way they always are after a good workout. Not that he does that many good workouts, but still, it’s a hard won ache that leaves his body humming in satisfaction. 

Stiles sighs contentedly, then chuckles as he hears something plop onto the floor outside and Dylan curse his own clumsiness. He drags himself up,picking up his discarded boxers from where they lie on the wooden floor. In the daylight the bedroom looks more lived in. Light on furniture, just a double bed and a dresser, but big on homey charm. There are drawings pinned up on a decent sized cork board next to the window. He can see familiar faces looking back at him, Doctor Hopper and Pongo, Peter, Erica, he can even spy sketches of himself. Along the window sill more of the little carved figures sit, gathering dust in the daylight. Seems like Dylan is an artist as well as a mechanic. 

Stiles smiles, reaching for his discarded red cape where it lies draped on the corner of Dylan’s dresser. He wraps it around himself like a blanket before making his way out of the bedroom. 

Dylan’s small kitchen is a mess, and he looks up shyly at Stiles as he enters. “I was trying to be a gentleman…” he explains. There’s a pile of scrambled eggs on the floor, and a dejected looking spatula in his hand. A stack of only somewhat burnt looking toast lies next to the stove and crisp bacon is degreasing on a paper towel next to it. It’s possibly the most adorable thing Stiles has ever seen.

“Well…”Stiles pads into the kitchen, kissing Dylan lightly on the cheek and grabbing a piece of bacon. “You keep acting all gentlemanly, and you might never get rid of me.” he smirks. Dylan’s face lights up, and Stiles is absolutely fucking charmed. 

Stiles feels like his life should change overnight. Just the feeling of being with Dylan makes his insides light up with a sort of content excitement. Though, he’s not really sure that they’re  _ together _ together. They’ve never really had any conversations about any sort of formal relationship, but there’s something there. At least Stiles hopes there is.  

Stiles had stayed at Dylan’s far into the morning, listening to music, talking about Derek’s fondness for machines and even Stiles’ hidden love of dance. It was natural, like there had never been any distance between them. Like they were always meant to be there, curled up on Dylan’s shabby sofa together. 

They’d made out a lot, Dylan’s body moving in congress with Stiles’ so easily that it felt like he knew what Stiles wanted even before he did. He knew when to grasp and when to caress, and every move of his thighs and bite of his lips made Stiles dizzy with want. They hadn’t migrated back to bed, but it had been a close thing. 

As the day went on though Stiles began to notice Dylan’s unease. He’d grabbed a hoodie from his bedroom after breakfast, layering it over his sleep pants and covering up his chest completely. Which Stiles had to admit was a real shame. Stiles had gone and grabbed his own shirt and pants from the night before, not wanting to appear too comfortable if Dylan was trying to subtly tell him it was time to go. Dylan had looked disappointed though, when he’d come back out of the bedroom carrying his shoes and socks. So Stiles had simply set the items by the door and come back to lounge with him on the couch and pick out another record. 

Around eleven a door downstairs opened and closed, and Stiles could see Dylan’s shoulders tense as someone climbed the stairs towards the apartment. Just before the door opened, Derek slipped his hood over his head, hiding his face away. 

“So neph-” Peter stilled as he stepped into the living room, noticing Stiles next to Dylan on the couch.  “I…”he began, “huh.” 

“Peter” Stiles greeted, raising an eyebrow at the man’s abrupt silence. 

“You’ll have to forgive me” Peter said, an oddly genuine looking smile breaking across his face, “This has never happened before.” 

 

Stiles’ life doesn’t really change a lot after that. He works at the radio station, he goes to Granny’s diner and exchanges snarky barbs with Red. He takes listener requests and skateboards around town, listens to records and takes late night drives in his beloved (and thankfully working) Jeep. At the same time though, it changes completely. He takes Dylan pie from Granny’s after he’s done harassing his best friend. He plays his favorite worn out records on Dylan’s turntable, and they make out until the needle runs off the grooves. Things are overall, pretty great. So of course that’s when everything seems to go to shit. 

It starts with Mary Margaret. Stiles has always been on friendly terms with the school teacher, but lately she’s been hanging around with Ruby and Stiles more and more, trying to get away from the judgemental stares of other Storybrooke residents. Seems her off again, on again relationship with some guy named David has branded her a homewrecker. 

Well in Stiles’ opinion, it takes two to tango, and all that. Plus anyone who has ever met Mary Margaret knows that she’s obscenely nice, so there is definitely more than meets the eye going on there. Either way though, Ruby and Stiles don’t judge. That’s part of what makes them the odd squad of Storybrooke Maine. 

With Mary Margaret comes Emma Swan. Emma is new to town, and that alone is reason enough for some residents to mistrust her. That, and it turns out she’s Henry’s biological mother. So yeah, some obvious drama there as well. He likes Emma though, she doesn’t take anyone’s shit and she can consume almost as much pie and coffee as Stiles can.

It’s not their presence though that turns everything upside down. It’s the events that seem to circle around them. The drama keeps amping up. Mayor Mills is determined to chase Emma out of town, and of course, Emma being clinically stoic and unafraid as she is, doesn’t budge. Mary Margaret continues to punish herself over David’s failed marriage. Stiles for his part, is trying to balance a new relationship with a shut in, an ever more aggressive Kate and his new friends’ drama. Ruby has even started handing out sage advice from behind the diner’s counter.  _ Ruby. _

It’s unusual, for so much to suddenly blow up after years of nothing much to report in their day to day lives. It feels like the town is gaining some momentum, tension building as everyone waits for something big to happen. Though no one is really sure what.  Stiles witnesses no less than three fights break out in Granny’s Diner in the span of a week. 

Then Emma brings in the book. 

She slides it onto the table while the four of them are having coffee. She does it slowly, like she’s embarrassed to even bring it to them. It looks like an old story book, leather bound with gold writing across the cover. It reads ‘Once Upon a Time’. 

“What is this?” Ruby asks, “We having story time?”

“The kid gave it to me.” Emma replies.

“Henry?” Stiles asks, Emma just nods. 

“He-he thinks that we’re all people from this book, and that the town is part of some curse caused by Regina.” Stiles whistles. A kid believing his mom is an evil witch from a storybook? That is so beyond anything he is fit to deal with or comment on. 

“Wait, like for real?” Ruby asks, Emma nods again and Stiles notices that Mary Margaret is awfully quiet. 

“He’s seeing Doctor Hopper, but…”

“But what?” Mary Margaret asks. 

“Okay, I know this is going to sound crazy. I feel crazy even saying it.” 

“You believe him.” Stiles says, he can see it written across his friend’s face, it’s worrying. 

“Listen,” Emma continues, “I know it sounds crazy, but I’ve seen things, Regina is hiding something. Maybe she’s not some crazy witch from The Enchanted Forest or whatever, but maybe these delusions are a manifestation for something really bad going on at home.”

“Or maybe it’s just about a confused boy with a stern adoptive mother?” Ruby suggests. She’s not a fan of Regina either, not many in town are. She’s cold and uses intimidation to get what she wants. Nevertheless Ruby, having the unearned reputation that she has in town, is almost always the one to presume someone innocent until proven guilty. 

“So what are you in the story, some kind of white knight? A good witch?” Stiles asks.

“I’m not in it.” Emma answers. “I’m not part of the curse.”

“It’s just us who have always lived here.” Mary Margaret chimes in, letting on, as Stiles suspected, that she knew about all of this before. “I feel guilty, I gave him the book last year. I could tell he was having some trouble at home, I thought it would take his mind off of things.”

“So who does he think you are?” Ruby asks, more excited than is probably appropriate for a discussion about a young boy’s mental health. 

“Snow White” Mary Margaret blushes. 

“I could see it” Ruby winks, dunking a cookie into her hot coffee. "Who am I?"

"Red Ridding Hood, I think" Emma answers and Stiles laughs so hard his face hurts. Ruby glares at him, while Emma and Mary Margaret just look confusedly at the pair of them. 

"I still have the red cape if you want it back" Stiles smirks. 

"Whatever, I bet you're like footman number five or something." Stiles chuckles, knowing his BFF is kidding, but he can't help but feel pained. He's always felt pushed into the background of the town. An orphan with no family, a DJ with no steady co-workers. He lives alone, has one friend and not much beyond that. Well, until recently he supposes. He thinks of Dylan and looks at his two new friends and thinks maybe he isn't doing so bad anymore. 

"No, it's something with music, Henry mentioned it. He's addicted to your show" Stiles beams, "A gypsy I think."

"Ha!" Stiles says, pointing his finger into his best friend's face, "Take that in your basket to grandma's house!" Ruby tries to bite his finger. 

The two women across from them roll their eyes but smile. Their little hodge podge group of town outcasts is really coming together. 

Stiles pours himself another cup of coffee from the pot on the table, thinking further on what Emma is trying to tell them.“But if it’s all in his head, like a metaphor for things going wrong at home, then why wouldn’t you be in it?”

“I don’t know, the kid thinks I’m some savior who has come to break the curse.”

"No pressure." Ruby replies. 

"I've tried talking to him, but he's so convinced..."

"Well how do you know he's wrong?" Mary Margaret asks.

"You mean, how do I know I'm not a mythical savior sent to save Storybrooke?"

"Yes" she nods, "It's weird sure, but a lot of things people believe are weird."

"Yeah, I mean look at the Mormons" Stiles agrees. 

"You have to admit," Mary Margaret continues, "a lot of weird stuff has been going on lately. Look at all the stuff with August, how I found David in the woods..."

"I am a bail bonds person." Emma says, "Not anyone's savior, I just don't know how I can get the kid to see the truth..." 

“You still don’t believe me.” The four friends whipped around, looking at Henry where he stood by the door, “I thought we were in this together, but you’ve just been pretending this whole time!” He’s out the door before anyone can stop him. 

“Henry, wait!” Emma calls, running after him. The rest of them gather their things and hurry out of the diner as well.

At the time, Stiles had no idea this relatively innocuous conversation was going to lead to him helping Emma fight a dragon. 

 

  
**BEFORE:**

 

Genim woke to someone tending the wound on his shoulder, The hands were petite and gentle, rubbing a strong smelling salve into his skin. He struggled to open his eyes, the lids felt heavy with sand and fatigue. The weight of the hands settled again against his chest, smoothing out soft material over his injured shoulder. “Der-” he croaked, the hands stopped sharply, before returning to rub lightly over his forehead. 

“Sleep Genim” a voice said, and he did.

The next time he woke it was sudden. He sat up, with Derek’s name on his lips and an ache in his chest. The room he was in was empty, only him laid out on a bed and a chair that had seen better days sitting abandoned in a corner. He didn’t recognize the place, it was not the Court of Miracles, that was for certain. The walls were an unfamiliar mixture of dirt and stone, and there were no windows, instead ledges holding several burning candles lit the area. 

Genim’s eyes blinked slowly, taking in more of the room, but still nothing struck him as familiar. He spied a rough hewn door across from the bed, and with a sigh he slid his legs from the bed, feet coming to rest on the floor. The only way he would be able to figure out where he was, was to investigate beyond the room he sat in. He stood slowly, his injured shoulder pulled unpleasantly and his body was sore from exhaustion. It was then that everything came back to him. The hunteress, running, Derek’s fall, the woman with the glowing eyes, and Derek’s torn chest. 

His breath stopped all at once, his heart stilling in his chest as a wave a grief nearly dropped him to his knees. He stepped quickly, making it to the door and just barely touching the knob before it opened and the woman from the forest appeared. 

“You’re up!” She smiled.

“Y-yes” Genim agreed, his chest pounding as she moved into the room and led Genim back to the bed.

“You shouldn’t be up, your body has been through a lot, you need to rest.”

“I’m fine, I need...where is Derek?”

“Genim….” Her tone was placating and no. Just no. He could not hear her soft words to consolation right now. He knew what she’s going to say, he saw Derek’s injuries after the fall. He knew what was coming. He just couldn’t accept it. 

He was up again and out of the room before the woman could catch him. He ran down dark candle lit corridors that all looked the same, the floors soft stone under his feet. He rushed forward almost slipping a time or two, as he brushed past strangers rounding corners. The place was dark and alien, and he just needed out. He was cold and afraid and so very very desperately sad. He ran until finally he could see a faint hint of daylight. He hurried towards it, climbing up a set of stairs that took him up and out through a heavy wooden archway, until finally he could breathe fresh air. 

He bent over, dragging in deep breaths or cool open air, trying his best not to drop. His head was still spinning and his chest felt like it was going to cave in. He could feel a panic attack coming on, but he did not want to break down where he was. He was alone, surrounded by strangers and he felt like his heart was going to drop from his chest. He looked around quickly, trying to get his bearings. 

He could not deny that the area around him was beautiful, a wide open clearing surrounded by deep woods, colorful fall leaves painting the area in rich reds and oranges. He could see the place where Derek must have fallen. It was straight ahead, the sun starting to set over the horizon it created. It was a sharp drop, a ledge that in the daylight would have lit up his mind with warning, but which in the night was so easy to miss. 

There was a man standing tall near the ledge, broad shoulders and a lean waist cast in shadow by the approaching dusk. Genim was not sure if the man was standing guard against something or making sure Genim himself stayed put, but his back was towards him, so Genim took the opportunity to escape. 

He made it only a few feet before something wrapped around his ankle. It wound around and got under his feet, causing him to stumble and fall the ground. When he turned, it took a moment for him to recognize the offending item, the black coarse fabric that used to sit across Derek’s uneven shoulders. It was now ripped and stiff with dried blood. His hands shook as he reached out towards his legs. “No” he murmured, as he brought the cloak up and bunched it in his arms. He hugged it to his chest, “No no no” a sob broke from his throat as he bent over the fabric.

“Genim” he heard someone call, footsteps growing nearer as he cried. “Genim” 

A hand grabbed his shoulder and Genim reared back “No!” he screamed, flinching away from the touch. He did not want comfort, he wanted Derek. In lieu of that he just wanted to be left alone. 

“Genim” The voice tried again, but he could not look away from the cloak, blood from his lover’s injuries and dirt from the road mixed together to form horrible brown smears. “My god, Gen stop!” the voice said, wrestling the cloak away and tossing it aside.

As soon as it was taken from him, Genim's anger erupted. It was sudden and all encompassing, only a momentary flash of hot rage that ran through him, before he turned on the stranger, fist connecting with a hard stubbled chin. The man went down easily, sinking back on the ground as Genim surged forward again, “What do you think you’re doi-” He froze as the man drew a hand away from his chin. “It can’t...you…” Derek looked up at him, “died..I...saw...” his emotions tempered, his mind unable to comprehend what he was seeing. 

“Gen…” Derek smiled, bringing a hand up to his cheek. 

It was at that first touch that he broke, his eyes watered, sobs wracked his chest. His body collapsed, but that was okay, because he was suddenly cradled in Derek’s arms. “I thought...Derek….” he cried.

“Shh” Derek cooed, “Everything is alright, I’m here, I’m with you…”

“But how?” Genim braced his arms on Derek’s chest, leaning back to look  down at him, “How are you here? Your chest was ribbons…” It’s then that he noticed Derek’s chest and shoulder. They were normal, the left and right sides in perfect symmetry. Genim was on his feet in the length of a breath. “You’re not him.”

“No, no I am” The man said, standing up and approaching Genim slowly.

“You can’t be, my Derek...was different.”

“It was the wolves,” The other man explained, still moving slowly as if afraid he might spook Genim. “You gave them permission to heal me, remember? Red asked you before you passed out.” He did remember something, vaguely. He was busy mourning and passing out at the time. The woman with the glowing eyes, she’d said something about mates and needing permission. 

“Werewolves” Genim said, remembering what the huntress with the knife had been after. “They’re werewolves?”

“Yes,” Derek answered, stepping into Genim’s space and settling a hand on his shoulder, “Red’s bite saved me, it healed my side where I was injured,including…” he motioned to his once malformed side.

“So now you’re a…”

“Yes.” Derek nodded, taking his hand away and looking down as if ashamed. 

“But you’re okay?” 

“Yes.” 

“Oh thank god” Genim threw himself into Derek’s unsuspecting arms with a sigh of relief. “Do not you ever do that to me again.”

Derek chuckled quietly, nodding his head and tilting his face just so as Genim brought their lips together. He could feel Derek’s smile against his own, and Genim doubted he could ever hold another feeling as dear, even if he lived twelve lifetimes. 

It was a relief and blessing, a gift from the gods that Derek was alive. His large palms came up to frame his face, and Stiles could feel the soft calluses of his fingers as they threaded through his hair. He leaned back, looking up at his lover’s face. The scars creating an x across his face were still present, though maybe slightly less noticeable, and Stiles found that he was glad. While his chest healing was a blessing after his tumble, and considering the trouble it often gave him, Stiles would have hated for him to have lost these too. They were part of him, they were beautiful. 

“I see you’ve found your mate” an amused voice said. Genim turned slowly, not yet wanting to take his eyes away from Derek, and saw the woman with the glowing eyes standing a few feet away.  “If you had waited a moment, I could have explained this all quite a bit easier.”

Genim blushed, “I’ve never really been good with patience.” he said. The woman smiled, her dark stained lips curving around bright white teeth. 

“So I’ve been told” she stepped cautiously towards the couple, and when Derek let out a low rumbling growl, Genim understood why. “It’s okay pup,” she soothed, “I’m not here to steal your mate.”

“S-sorry” Derek flushed.

“It’s perfectly fine,” the woman smiled, “to be expected even. You’re new to the pack and I’m a relative stranger approaching your mate who is still vulnerable. Your instincts are to protect him. That’s good.”

Derek nodded and  turned to face the woman, keeping an arm possessively around Genim. “Genim of the Romani,” he said formally, “This is Red, Alpha of the Great Northern Wood.”

 


	8. Strange Magic

**NOW:**

 

Stiles isn’t sure how he found himself in this situation, but he is definitely calling a do-over on this entire day. He’s just picking up some lunch for himself and Dylan, takeout chinese from Shang’s, when a frantic looking Emma bumps into him outside. She’d been stressed out the last couple of days, after the run in with Henry at the diner. She’d been downing one too many cups of coffee and trying to help by talking to Henry’s therapist Doctor Hopper. (Which Stiles kind of felt was a violation of doctor-patient privilege, but he wasn’t a parent so he chose to keep his mouth shut.) Simultaneously, Henry had hardly been talking to Emma, and when he was he was doubling down on trying to convince her of his fairy tale delusions. 

The situation had gotten so dire Emma had decided to leave, head back to Boston. She was convinced that her being in town was doing more harm to Henry than good. Stiles, Ruby and Mary Margaret had seen her off that morning. Her belongings packed in the back of her ancient yellow VW beetle.  They had all been sad to see her go, but ultimately they had understood that she was trying to do what was best for Henry. So needless to say, it was a shock to see her again just hours later. 

Emma looks confused and agitated, as she bumps into him. Her eyes are bloodshot and her sleek blonde hair a disarray. “Emma, what’s going on? What are you doing here?”

“What? Stiles?” Emma looks just as surprised to see him.

“Hey, are you okay?” Stiles asks, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah I’m okay.”She breathes deep, “It’s Henry,” she answers, “he’s in a coma.” 

“A what?! How?”

“Are we going to talk to the entire peanut gallery on the way? Or are we going to actually save my son?” Stiles turns, just now noticing Mayor Mills standing behind his friend. 

“I don’t know…” Emma continues, ignoring Regina “he took a bite of an apple turnover, and then he just passed out…”

“Like an allergic reaction?” Stiles is already confused. 

“No, not like an allergic reaction” Regina rolls her eyes, “Like magic, now come on, we don’t have time for this.” Regina starts forward again, leading Emma away. Stiles pauses for a moment before deciding that he can't really, in good conscience, leave Emma alone with the woman whose been out to destroy her since she set foot in town. 

“What does she mean, magic?” Stiles hisses, food forgotten as they walk further down Main Street. 

“It’s-okay, I know this sounds crazy,” Emma says, following Regina across the street towards the library, “but it’s a curse.”

“It was meant for Emma” Regina says as she takes out a key to unlock the entrance. 

“A curse?” Stiles asks as he follows the women through the library door, “Like a fairytale, tale as old as time kind of curse?”

“Exactly dearie!” Stiles jumps as a voice sounds from behind the counter. 

“How- what the fuck…” Stiles says, clutching his heart as Mr. Gold, the pawnbroker(?!) comes around the counter. “Okay, I’m officially confused. What the hell is going on?”

“Stiles” Emma turns to him, “I don’t have time to explain, but right now, I have to go fight a dragon and save my son.” 

“Our son.” Regina glares

“Excuse me?” Stiles blinks in disbelief. 

“Here” Stiles watches as Mr. Gold hands Emma a great big friggin’ sword. This is not his life. “You’ll need this to defeat her.”

“Her?” Stiles is so lost.

“Now remember, dearie, the bottle is inside her, you’ll have to truly defeat her if you want to save Henry.”

“What the….” Stiles mumbles as Emma pushes a button to reveal an elevator that looks as though it’s seen better days. Emma doesn’t hesitate to step in, Stiles doesn’t really think before stepping in after her.

“Stiles, what are you doing?” Emma asks.

“Well, I figure if you’re going to fight a dragon, you could probably use some back up.”

“Stiles, this isn’t your fight.” Emma intones, “You don’t even believe in all this stuff.”

“Well, until a few hours ago, neither did you.” he shrugs.

“But…”

“Emma, shut up.” Stiles says, sliding the door shut and pushing the button for the basement. 

The elevator ride is not smooth. The old carriage rattles a little too much to be reassuring. To be honest, Stiles is completely surprised when it comes to a smooth stop at the bottom of the shaft instead of falling right down. The room they walk out into looks more like a cave than the basement of a library, and Stiles is doing his best not to wonder why that is. For his sanity’s sake. 

There’s only one passage to follow, straight ahead, and it leads them out into a wide cavern that is definitely too large to be hidden below the Storybrooke public library. “Okay, this is weird.” Stiles admits. Emma for her part is holding her sword aloft, looking ready to strike at anything that moves. Which is good, since two seconds later a massive black dragon swoops down from somewhere and lands right in front of them. 

They dive in opposite directions, barely missing being burnt alive, as the dragon breathes out a wide swath of fire. There are boulders to either side of the entrance they came through, and both find refuge behind one. 

“That’s a dragon!” Stiles yells as he crouches behind the rock.

“Yep.” Emma nods, from her place across the room. 

“No, like a real dragon, with fire and scales and...a dragon!”

“Stiles, focus!”

“Right, right.” he breathes, “So what’s the plan?”

“Stick it with the pointy end” Emma raises her sword, “And save Henry.”

“Oh” Stiles moans as Emma rushes out from behind her boulder, “So, we’re going to die.” He looks around himself, searching for something to use as a weapon. He was not furnished with am Excalibur-esque broadsword. Thanks Mr. Gold. There’s nothing much around, just rocks and debris from what he suspects may have been past attempts on the dragon’s life. He almost misses it, but out of the corner of his eye Stiles notices something pale sitting between two of the larger boulders. Before he can think it through too much, he makes his way over. He’d like to say he looks dashing and heroic, but he mostly crouches and waddles over to the object slowly. 

He can hear Emma and the dragon facing off across the room as he creeps closer. The pale object turns out to be the stark white bones of a soldier, if the chainmail and metal helmet are to be believed. You know, those historical reenactor soldiers...who guard dragons...He’s really going to need to see Dr. Hopper after all of this. Most importantly though, there is a spear clutched in the soldier’s skeletal fingers. He really does not want to touch the dead guy, really  _ really _ would prefer not to, but the dragon roars again and bright orange light explodes across the room.

“Stiles, a little help!?” Emma calls, and Stiles reaches out, grabbing the spear. It breaks halfway down leaving him with a length just a little longer than his forearm to work with. Still, better than nothing he supposes. 

He hurries out from behind the rocks, slipping through quietly, as Emma drops her sword, whipping out a gun. Stiles thinks that as the sheriff, that should have been Emma’s first move, but he’s trying not to judge as he stands clear. She empties the entire clip into the dragon’s face, which surprisingly/not surprisingly only serves to piss the dragon off, and does little in the way of actually harming it. 

“Any other ideas?” Stiles asks, Emma only rolls her eyes, and ducks to the side picking her sword up once again. Stiles, with his half spear isn’t quite sure what help he’s going to be, but knows that he has to do something. He runs forward, dipping to the side at the last minute and and jumping up, kicking off a convenient boulder. He twists in mid-air, his arm braced as he flies towards the dragon. He catches one of its wings with the sharp point of his rusted spear, holding on tight as the dragon screams and his blade slices down through the wing’s membrane. He falls to the cavern floor as he comes to the wing’s end, and Emma stabs at the beast’s underbelly with her sword. 

The sword punctures the dragon’s stomach, but it doesn’t slow it down. Instead, its talons come down, knocking Emma off balance, and Stiles is forced to take refuge behind another large rock as the dragon rains down fire in his direction. He can hear Emma struggling once more, and when the fire stops, Stiles peaks around the boulder, to see her sword get knocked away and the dragon grasp her around her torso, throwing her to the ground.

Stiles can feel his panic starting to build, but he knows he can’t let it crest. He has to keep it together. It’s then that Stiles notices that the boulders around him build up; a smaller one leading to a larger one, like a staircase. He has a crazy idea, and no idea why he thinks he can pull it off, but with Emma pinned down by the dragon and her sword out of reach, he has no other choice. 

He runs towards the boulders, jumping up the makeshift staircase at a smooth pace, more sure of himself that he should be. He makes the leaps easily, his balance perfect. When he comes to the highest peak, he continues, flipping elegantly through the air, and landing square on the dragon’s back. ‘ _ Holy fuck’ _ he thinks. It’s not hard after that to sit astride, her? It? 

The dragon rears back, turning it’s head to the side, trying to get a look at him. It’s head is huge, easily larger than Stiles himself, and one yellow eye looks back at him as a growl builds in its throat. Below him Emma is still trapped, no doubt being squeezed by the dragon’s large claws. So, Stiles braces himself, clutching his spear in his grasp and jams it into the dragon’s eye. 

As he had hoped, the dragon flails backward, letting loose the grip it had on Emma. As he feared, the dragon also shakes itself, throwing Stiles from his perch. He’s weightless for a moment flying through the dark cavern, and then his head smacks wetly on the stone and he falls to the ground. 

He loses a little time after that. His mind too busy focusing on his double vision and feeling like he might vomit all over himself. He hears Emma yell something, and a burst of heat and light fills the room, but he can’t see anything from his place on the floor. It’s not until Emma runs toward him, sword and a bottle of something in hand, that he realizes that the dragon has been defeated. 

“Yaye, we won, woohoo...” Stiles groans. Emma just smirks and helps him to his feet.

 

  
**BEFORE:**

Derek smiled against his lover’s lips adjusting his hold until Genim’s feet left the floor and his body was plastered against his own. The room was dark and cozy, a fire burning in an open fireplace chasing away the cold fall evening. Genim moaned as the kiss grew deeper, clutching hands and hungry mouths working to reaffirm their continued existence. 

It had been an unbelievable few weeks, with Derek’s near death and resurrection as a werewolf. Genim would never have imagined his life taking such a drastic turn. Derek had had to relearn everything. Sight, sound, smell, all his senses overwhelming him as the bite took hold and changed him. They’d been with the pack for almost four weeks and their first full moon would be the next day. Red had warned them, mated pairs felt the need for physical affection acutely in the time leading up to it, but Genim had never felt anything like the all consuming burning need he felt at that moment. 

Genim ran his tongue along the seam of Derek’s lips, gaining enthusiastic entrance as the older man met it with his.Their tongues slid hot and wet as Derek walked across the room, dropping Genim on to the bed from such a great height that he bounced twice before coming to rest. Genim laughed, and then groaned in pleasure as Derek slid his body down over his own. Derek’s furry chest tantalizingly tracing a path over Genim’s stomach and up to his smooth pectorals. 

“Derek, please…” 

“What?” Derek asked, kissing his way up Genim’s neck, and whispering into his ear, “What do you need?”

“More, just...more" Genim moaned as Derek began to move his hips, rubbing his own stiff length against Genim's slowly filling cock. Derek purred, feeling the reaction his movement was drawing from his lover, enjoying the sounds it pulled from Genim's mouth. As the heat in the room grew, Derek pushed back, sitting up on his knees and ridding himself off his shirt. 

Genim stilled, watching as more and more of Derek's chest was revealed. He still wasn't used to the change, a part of him still looked for the caved in shoulder and boxy angles of his love's former body. Though, the way Derek's eyes shined with joy at Genim's appreciative focus, by far made up for any nostalgia his former body held. It may have been the one Genim had fallen in love with, but this new one was Derek as he always should have been able to be, unencumbered with insecurity and pain. 

Derek smiled down at him, reaching out slowly and untying the length of burlap that held Genim's loose pants in place. He slid them off gradually, tapping Genim's hip to get him to lift himself up and allow the soft material of his pants to slide under his bottom and reveal his straining length. Derek threw them to the side once they were off completely, kneeling between Genim's spread legs. His fingers slid up from Genim's toes, tracing his arches and moving up to his ankles. His palms cupped his calves as they continued up, Derek's eyes tracing their path, up and over Genim's knees and to his strong thighs. "I'm going to touch you now" Derek purred.

"You better do more than that" Genim smirked, as Derek's pupils dilated and his concentration on Genim's body turned hungry. He bent down, sliding his hands further up Genim's body, until they came to rest on his stomach, his face leaning in, leaving a path of sloppy kisses from his left knee to his groin. Derek breathed in deep, and Genim held himself still, willing himself not to thrust up into his lover's face. Derek's hands clenched on Genim's stomach leaving pricks of heat where his nails slid into his fist. Genim held his breath in a moment of absolute overwhelming pleasure as Derek slid is mouth down his aching shaft, circling his tongue around the head.   Then suddenly the tight wet heat was gone and Genim was alone.

 

"What..." Genim gasped, opening his eyes and looking up across the room.

“Sorry” Derek said, looking at Genim with golden glowing eyes and sharp teeth, “I am still working on control.”

“Oh” Genim replied, feeling a shiver run up his spine at the sight of Derek’s transformed face and bare chest. He'd seen Derek's beta shift a few times before, but never when they were being intimate. It made something inside Genim burn even more. “Well you know what helps with control, do you not?” he asked, standing and slinking closer to his lover.

“What?”Derek gulped, eyes roaming over Genim’s lithe body. 

“Practice.” Stiles smiled, pulling Derek’s transformed body back to him. 

-

The full moon was actually somewhat anticlimactic after all Derek and Genim had been through. The pack went out into the forest, running in their wolfskins and Derek was held back by Red to determine his control. Genim sat outside, listening to the pack bark and howl as they ran through the trees. Unlike the night they first encountered the wolves, it was now comforting and familiar. 

Their entrance into the pack was somewhat unorthodox according to Red. Most of the wolves had been born into the pack or found Red in a less dramatic fashion. One thing the majority of them had in common though, was that they had been searching for belonging, for a family. The wolves had all been kind to Genim and Derek. Even the elders who looked on outsiders with suspicion. It made it easier for Genim to stay there. To not give into the part of him that wanted desperately to continue on with their journey. He yearned to make it to the Court of Miracles, to find out if his father and any of the rest of his tribe had made it. Knowing Derek needed to be with others of his kind tempered his impatience, at least a little.  

The “den” as Red called the collective system of underground tunnels and rooms, was comforting for Derek. He found himself as wolf, the companionship the lonely man had always longed for, the physical strength he’d never let himself dream of...all at his feet. Genim was happy for him, so _so_ happy, but he also felt bereft. His tribe was gone, the man he loved was changed and he was left feeling solitary and out of place. 

It was a relief when Red had exited the den with Derek in tow, just an hour after moonrise. “It turns out that Derek has a very sturdy anchor” She winked, and went on to join her pack, leaving Derek standing beside Genim. 

“What’s an anchor?” Genim asked.

“It’s a point of focus” Derek answered, taking one of Genim’s hands in his own, “something that fills me with certainty and connects me to my human self.” 

“And yours is strong?” Genim smiled, wrapping his hands around Derek’s neck. 

“Very.” Derek nodded. 

They left for the Court of Miracles the next day, Red determining Derek to be safe with a solid anchor and the full moon a month away. She did extract a promise of their return in three weeks time, however. Derek may have been strong and focused, but he would need a pack that could teach him to stabilize and control his instincts.  

Genim had borrowed a reliable map from one of the other pack members, a shy woman named Meredith. She had sought him out, seeming to know before anyone what he needed. He’d thanked her profusely, and she’d surprised him further by handing him an even bigger treasure, a small dreamcatcher, the kind his people carried. On it, were different color strings that outlined the city of Beacon and a single blue bead that pinpointed the location of the entrance to the Court of Miracles. Genim had looked up at her sharply, noting only then that she did indeed have the darker complexion and beautiful curls indicative of many romani tribes. Meredith had just smiled kindly and walked away, leaving him with a lifeline to his people. 

With the aid of the map and horses borrowed from Red, they made the journey to Beacon in two days. They city was not as big as the one Derek had been brought up in, but it had a bustling market, and a large wooden church. There were several homes that lined the streets, and blacksmiths and bakers peddled their wares near the city square. 

It was easy for them to slip into the city unnoticed. Clothes that Red had supplied them with, and dark cloaks hiding their identities from anyone who may have still been looking for them. Not that Genim thought anyone would recognize Derek now. He walked with confidence that he never had before, back straight and head held high. 

Genim lead them quickly through the market square, trying his best to obscure the dreamcatcher from any wandering eyes. He followed the colorful lines that outlined the city, and the intersections of thread that indicated city blocks. He counted them out carefully in his mind while Derek guided the horses by their reigns. 

The turned into a dead end alleyway, and for a moment Genim thought that he must have misread the map. The crowds had died away, and they found themselves in a small plaza, barely big enough to loop the horses around. A collection of shoddy looking storefronts circled a small square, but no peddlers or customers could be seen. In the center sat a small stone obelisk on a brick pedestal. A tired looking beggar wrapped in a tattered blanket sat in front of it. “This can’t be right…” Genim murmured as they walked further into the plaza. 

“Did we take a wrong turn?” Derek asked, petting the neck of one of the horses.

“No, there must be…” Genim turned is head, looking for a hidden alleyway or entrance. 

“What do you seek, my child?” The beggar spoke, his voice sounding off the walls of the empty square. Genim startled, surprised by the strong voice coming from beneath the dirty blanket. 

“N-nothing, we must have lost our way.” He answered, gathering his wits and turning back to the dreamcatcher. 

“That’s quite a pretty bobble you’ve got there.” The beggar said, standing from his place on the ground. “And where might you have gotten that, eh?” The man was taller than Genim expected, his stance wide and strong. He could feel Derek taking a hold of his cloak encouraging Genim to step back, away from the surprisingly intimidating figure, but something made Genim hesitate. 

“It is a relic from my family, meant to show me the way.” Genim answered. 

“Well” The stranger dropped his cloak, revealing knowing eyes and a colorful quilted jacket. “I suppose you better come in then.” Genim ran to the man, jumping into his arms. 

“Clopin!” he exclaimed, tears forming at the corner of his eyes. The old singer had been a staple of Genim’s young life, leading his choral instruction and engaging the tribe is many fireside tales and songs. Moreover, he was alive. 

The man’s arms came up to embrace Genim as well, “Well if it isn’t little Mischief.” The man said, stepping back as Derek walked closer the pair, a low growl in his throat. “I know quite a few people who will be very glad to see you.” He turned to Derek who had the grace to look embarrassed by his instinctive reaction to another holding his mate. “And who might this be?”

“This is Derek, my…”

“Love”  Clopin nodded, “Yes, it’s easy to see that much. Have a rough trip through the North Woods, did you?”

“Nevermind that” Genim rolled his eyes, “My father, is he…”

“Well I’m-” Sudden screaming filled the air, as thunder rung out over the city. 

“What is that?” Derek looked around, as the screaming grew louder. The horses neighed hitching up on their hind legs in horror, seeming to sense something the three men could not. Derek was forced to drop their leads and watched as they ran off, back towards the city streets. Through the outlet, the men could see scared citizens running, hands and voices raised in a alarm as they looked back over their shoulders. 

Another rumble of thunder sounded and above them and dark purple clouds of smoke appeared over the rooftops of the square. They rolled towards them, swift and unnatural, moving fast without the aid of wind and lightning crackling inside each sweeping cloud.

“Hurry!” Clopin called, turning back to where he’d been sitting and opening a trapdoor at the foot of the obelisk. Derek and Genim followed him without delay, rushing down a set of stone stairs and bolting the trap door behind them. “We must get to the court!” Clopin said, grabbing a lit torch from the dark passage wall and running ahead, leading them away from the cacophony of screams and thunder above. 

“What was that?” Genim called, following his friend.

“Dark, dark magic” Clopin answered as a crash came from behind them. All three looked back in horror as the purple tendrils of smoke rushed towards them. “Hold tight!” Clopin warned. Genim clutched to Derek’s arm. “We will all meet again in the next life.” The singer said. Derek curled his arm around Genim’s shoulders and held him tight, then all was darkness. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	9. Weathered the Storm

**NOW :**

 

The curse breaks when Stiles is at the hospital. He’s is standing outside Henry’s room, debating between leaving the family in peace and staying to see how everything plays out. Then suddenly the machines attached to Henry are going crazy, lighting up and making high pitched noises that are never good. Dr. Whale rushes forward, checking the boy’s vitals and doing other things that Stiles, with his lack of medical knowledge, can only guess the purpose of.  The doctor’s movements are quick and well practiced, the hallmark of a professional doing his job. Still though, two minutes and a handful of hollered out commands later, Dr. Whale is pronouncing Henry dead. 

It seems like Stiles stands there forever, but in reality only minutes pass. The machines ring out, Henry is gone and his everyone is falling apart. Stiles can’t bare to watch Emma and Regina break down. He folds into a seat outside the observation window, his head in his hands. Henry was a special kid, known and loved by most in Storybrooke, and now, he’s just gone. He doesn’t know how his friend or the town will come back from this. Or how he’s meant to comprehend the existence of dragons and magical secrets in a world where a young kid can die from eating a pastry. 

It’s moments later that a shimmering light bursts through the waiting room, arching and rushing forward like a cresting wave making its way onto a beach. Stiles pops up from his seat, alert and confused. His mind is full of fuzzy images slowly forming themselves into memories. Actual solid memories of another life. A life without Emma and Storybrooke. A life where he had a family, a tribe… a life where he danced and sang, and was loved by...by Derek. Derek, not Dylan. Though really they are one and the same. Stiles is back, he’s himself. He’s awake.

  
Around him he can see others waking up to their long lost memories as well. Nurses at their stations looking down at their hands like they can’t remember what they were doing or why they were doing it. A janitor with a disgruntled look on his bearded face throws his mop to the ground, and across the room a woman in a waiting chair is frantically dialing someone on her phone. Whatever just happened was big. Big enough to free them all from the dark spell that held them all captive in this town.

Stiles turns, looking inside the hospital room where Henry is sitting up and hugging Emma. He’s _alive_. 

Stiles takes a deep relieved breath, and then he runs. 

The town is a mess, people wandering in a daze, confused and elated in turns. He’s just turning a corner, past the old music shop, when the door pops open. “Genim!” someone yells, and Stiles skids to a stop, almost toppling over himself, before turning back to the storefront. He can hardly believe his eyes as the store owner walks out onto the street. He looks exactly the same. Dishwater blonde hair greying at the temples and a kind smile. 

“Papa” he whispers, tears already prickling behind his eyes by the time the older man takes him into his arms. 

“Genim” his father holds on tight, only parting to look him over, “I hoped, I always hoped you’d made it, I couldn’t find you…”

“It’s okay poppa, I’m fine” Stiles reassures him,wiping moisture from his cheeks and looking up into the soft blue eyes that belong to all those hazy memories he could never quite recall. “I missed you.” he laughs as his father brings him in for another hug, unable to say anything else. 

Stiles lets himself relax into the embrace. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get to feel this again, not after the day half of their tribe was murdered. The hug is as it always was, safe and comforting, familiar. He’d grown so numb to being alone over the years, no family besides Ruby (Red...he now realizes) to turn to. Now he feels whole again, complete in a way that he didn’t know he could be. Like a fundamental part of him has slotted back into place. 

A howl rings out through the air, and Stiles knows that it’s Ruby calling her pack to her. He smiles as he once again steps back from his father. “I have someone I’d like you to meet.” His father simply nods and motions for Stiles to lead the way. 

The streets are full of happy reunions and shocking realizations as they walk towards Granny’s diner. Everyone is waking and everyone is happy to be back, but angry at their lives having been taken from them in the first place. The murmurs are growing, “The Witch” he hears a woman sneer, and “This is Regina’s doing!” a man calls. They’re going to have a mob on their hands if someone doesn’t take control soon. 

Stiles pushes on towards the dinner, not letting go of his father’s hand as they turn the last corner and the restaurant comes into sight. Stiles stops in his tracks. Derek is standing in the street, turning his head from side to side, peering through the crowds. His hood is down, his strong jawline and proud nose on display. He’s as handsome as ever. Moreover, he looks self assured and unafraid to be out in  public. 

Derek stills when his eyes finally land on Stiles. Pausing for only a moment before a bright smile blooms on his face. Stiles doesn’t think before letting go of his father’s hand and running towards him. Derek stays where he is, but is ready and braces himself when Stiles jumps up into his arms. 

“Gen” Derek sighs, clutching him tightly to his chest. “I just…” he begins, “There was this light and…”

“I know” Stiles nods, bringing the taller man in for a kiss, “I know.” They hug tight, Stiles held slightly aloft in Derek’s strong arms. Derek’s arms like a comforting brace around him. He feels like he could melt, so blindingly happy and relieved, so _relieved_ to be back with Derek. To be held by him with the knowledge of their shared past. 

He always felt like they’d shared some connection. Ever since they first time they spoke. If only he’d known how right he was this whole time. 

An exaggerated cough causes them to break apart, Derek reluctantly setting Stiles back on his feet. Stiles’ father is looking at him with a bemused smirk, thoroughly enjoying the awkward expression on Derek’s face. “Oh sorry” Stiles smiles, stepping back and putting an arm around his father’s shoulders. “Derek, I’d like you to meet my dad, Johnathan of the Romani.” Derek’s shock is expected, but his happiness seems to catch John off guard. 

“Your...?” Stiles nods, “Oh my, it’s so good to meet you sir!” Derek beams, taking John’s hand in his own to shake, “We’ve been looking for you for a long time.”

“Well,” John starts, quickly warming up to Derek’s enthusiasm, “It’s nice to meet you as well.” he smiles and turns to his son, “Should I assume this is the person you were always rushing off to meet during the Feast?” Neither man answers, but both of their cheeks turn red which is telling enough for John. 

“Well if it isn’t my two favorite Betas” Ruby says, slinking up to join their reunion. 

“Alpha” Derek nods respectfully, as Ruby smiles and runs a hand over the back of his head, scent marking him. 

“Rubes” Stiles winks, as his best friend turns to him with a wicked smile. “I can’t believe this whole time you’ve been some mythical badass.” Ruby gives him an unimpressed look, her hands on his waist drawing attention to her lean leather clad legs and the plunging neckline of her black sweater. “Okay maybe I can.” he smiles as Ruby brings him into a fierce hug. “But don’t think that just because you’re back to being Ms. Head-Wolf, that I’m going to start paying for pie.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she says, releasing Stiles back into the tensely jealous arms of his boyfriend. “We’re still going to have to work on that control” Ruby winks, motioning to Derek’s shining blue eyes. “And who do we have here?” she purrs, motioning to Stiles’ father in a way that Stiles is definitely not comfortable with. 

“This.” Stiles states, “Would be my  _ father _ , and as such, he is out of bounds.” 

“Oh you’re no fun” Ruby smiles, holding out a hand to his father anyway. “Ruby, waitress extraordinaire, alpha werewolf and your son’s best friend.”

“Well, that sounds like the utmost trouble he could get into, so not surprising.” he smiles, taking her hand, “John.” 

“Oh I like you.” She winks. 

“Okay okay,” Stiles rolls his eyes, “there are no current openings for a stepmom position, so let’s just take a step back from the flirting.” To Stiles’ horror his dad blushes and Ruby’s smile gets sharper. 

“Where is she?!” A raised voice rings out nearby, turning their group’s attention from each other to the large mass of people who have gathered in the street. “We need to find Regina!” the voice, belonging to the janitor from the hospital says, “She cast this curse, she can end it!”

“Leroy’s right!” another person agrees.

“We have to find her and make her take us back home!” 

Things are going sideways quickly, and Stiles is relieved when Mary Margaret and David (‘ _ Holly crap he’s friends with Snow White!’ _ ) make their way over to them. “What’s going on?” Snow/Mary Margaret asks. 

“A mob is forming.” John frowns.

“They want Regina’s head on a pike,” Stiles explains. 

“Not that I blame them.” Ruby shrugs. 

“Ruby, violence isn’t the answer.” Snow chides.

“Really? Because this is the Evil Queen we’re talking about here, you know she’s not going to take this hit to her power lying down.”

“We’ll find another way” David says. 

“Hey, I’m all for non-violence, but what are we thinking is going to stop that?” Derek asks, pointing up into the sky where a dark cloud of magic is swirling. 

“What in the world?” John whispers. 

“That” Stiles says, “looks suspiciously like the last curse that sent us all here and stole our memories.” 

“I have to agree with Stiles on this” David nods, as the clouds start moving closer. 

“Run?” Stiles asks, looking to his friends. 

“Run.” Derek agrees, and they all turn tail, running towards the library.  It becomes apparent rather quickly that they have no hope of ever getting ahead of the magical storm. They run all the same though, dogging others who have the same idea and keeping track of one another. 

They make it as far as the clocktower before the shadows from the clouds above fall over them. Instinctively they all seem to gather together. Grasping each other's hands and standing close, in a bid to not be separated again by whatever magic is going to take hold this time. None of them have time to utter a word before the magic sweeps over them and the world goes dark. 

When they wake sometime later, magic is alive and well in Storybrooke and a whole new host of troubles have begun. At least now though, they have their memories and each other. 

 

THE END ~

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, comments and constructive criticism are welcome :) 
> 
> Kudos if you enjoyed the story/chapter help motivate. 
> 
> I will be posting chapters every couple of days as time allows. 
> 
> This is a story I posted once before, but wanted to go back and rework and flush out.


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